The Beast In Me
by ajayd
Summary: A novel detailing Duo's early life on the street, through his Orphanage, Sweeper, Gundam years and beyond. Canon with artistic license. Can that many years of pain yield a happy ending? Slash romance far down the road. COMPLETE.
1. Solo

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing, including affiliated characters, story arc, and universes, are in no way the property of yours truly. No financial profit has been accumulated through the distribution of any fanfiction that I have written.

Disclaimer 2: This story is complete. Those familiar with my previous work might know that I have abandoned a couple stories, to readers' disappointment. So I have not posted anything in years, in an effort to complete this monster first. I HAVE FINALLY FINISHED! I will be reviewing chapters over the next few days and posting them as I complete that process. Please review to encourage me! (I do, after all, review work written two or even three years ago now.)

**Warning: **I have tried to stick close to the actual course of evens, but have definitely taken liberal artistic license – think of it as a director's interpretation. (And, of course, this is eventually gone have some purely inspired slash!) Now sit back and enjoy the angsty fun . . .

**THE BEAST IN ME **

**Chapter 1: Solo**

"The beast in me has learned to live with pain, and how to shelter from the rain." – Nick Lowe, The Beast in Me

There are a handful of vague recollections that vie for title of My Earliest Memory. There was a time when I tried really hard to sort through these cloudy memories chronologically, but I ultimately concluded that they had been formed at an age too young to code temporal markers. By working backwards I hypothesize that I was probably three or four during this early period of recollection.

I remember the constant ache of hunger that dominated my early life, always there to threaten me with starvation if I rested for even a moment. As skinny as I was back then, every second spent not procuring food was a second spent dying. So I wandered endlessly through the dirty streets of L2, sticking close to the buildings and walls to avoid being trampled by the bustling crowds of towering adults. I darted towards my targets, grabbing what I could then retreating back into the shadows before anyone could catch me. I ate what I stole, what I salvaged from the garbage, and what scraps were thrown out to the animals. If the cops saw me, they would give just enough chase to run me off (these were good days by L2 standards). I was an alert, wild little creature that responded to any perceived threat with fast frenzied attacks that inevitably involved a lot of biting and growling.

This time is a blur of stress and fear that pervaded everything I did, but I still wish that remembered it better. The closest I can come to recalling positive feelings is the warm fuzziness I felt most nights when I could retreat from my dangerous foraging to my tiny hidey-hole by the ventilation system, where foul blankets offered the blissful oblivion of sleep. But every morning met me with a ravenous emptiness in my belly and a dread of what the day held in store. Most days I could scavenge and steal enough to temporarily assuage the hunger, and even keep enough for the next day; but sometimes I would have to hide in the ventilation shafts or sewers for days as rioting and violence took hold of the streets. I somehow managed through most days without serious damage to myself, but the only days I remember are the ones in which the trauma has been etched into my psyche.

I still have the occasional nightmare about one such event, though for the most part later horrors have priority over my dreams. In this one memory from my toddlerhood, I am grabbed by large hairy arms, and I struggle haphazardly but I can't see my captor. I am shoved into an itchy burlap bag and then tossed over his shoulder. I can barely move in this position, but I scream and snarl, and I begin to get hot and sweaty and panicked; but then the bag shifts and I am freefalling for a moment before I hit the ground with a sickening crack. I try to scramble out of the bag, but then blows are landing on my body, and it is all I can do to curl up in a fetal position. In my memory, another kick to my injured rib causes me to pass out, but in my nightmare I just remain trapped and suffocating as I am beaten to death.

I woke up to the care of a middle-aged shopkeeper who I recognized me from my barrio. I knew that she sometimes threw food out to the stray children and animals, but I never dared approach her and, indeed, was almost as afraid of her as anyone else.

The plump lady smiled at me as I blinked to awareness; she should have been no match for my speed and agility, but when I tried to dart off the bed, I collapsed to the floor in nauseated dizziness and agony. I'd was relatively proficient at numbing and ignoring pain, even as a kid, but this time my body's reality was overruling my willpower. I hissed and snarled when the lady approached to presumably help me, but she was patient enough to back up and let me take stock of the situation. When I saw that she was giving me the space, I looked over my injuries and was horrified to see that my skin had turned an unfamiliar pinkish color; I had to rub at it a little to realize that the normal full-body smear of dirt had been washed off, and this is what resided underneath! Still, I didn't dare dwell on the phenomenon too long and glanced around, coming to the distressing realization that, while I could probably make it out of the lady's house, I was certainly in no state to hobble through the dangerous streets of the barrio back to my hidey-hole.

I rolled under the bed instead, and this turned out to be a very good idea. I discovered after several tense minutes of waiting for her to come after me that the shopkeeper seemed content to leave me there as long as I wished. A delicious aroma I had never smelt before eventually began filling up the room, and my mouth started watering; when a bowl was placed on the floor by the bed, I snatched it greedily and swallowed the soup in two giant gulps.

The lady squawked something, probably about the heat of the soup, but it didn't matter to me. I would eat _anything_, from dead carcasses to rotten food to questionably non-edible plant and animal matter, making this the best meal I had ever had. The fact that I had scalded my mouth barely registered, but I tensed immediately to see her lowering herself ground in order to sit next to the bed.

I snarled at her, but she neither came closer nor backed up. Instead, she began pointing to herself and annunciating over and over the syllables, "Mad-El-Ine."

Eventually I figured it out – she was using the sounds to refer to herself! Of course, I had no response when she gestured questioningly at me, but after a couple dozen times of her repeating her name, I started chewing on the sounds and trying to make my tongue and lips operate in conjunction. I could tell that it pleased the lady to no end when I finally dared rasp, "Mad-dine."

It was warm in the room and I soon dozed off in my dusty spot under the bed. When I woke it was dark and Madeline had presumably gone to bed. I was relieved at her absence despite how nice she had been to me: I didn't trust this unfamiliar generosity and I was afraid, so I snuck out, taking a loaf of bread with me.

Still, the experience was not left behind so easily and I soon found myself trying to imitate the words around me. I listened at every opportunity, trying desperately to understand the secret language that everyone seemed to speak. For months I spent every spare second studying the sounds coming from the passers-by. Once I even followed a young couple for several hours, eavesdropping on their amorous dialogue, and it was then that I first remember feeling loneliness as I wished I could be their dog. They pet it and fed it and even talked to it, and all the beast did was follow them around and lick their hands – I figured I could do better than that!

Of course, when I finally worked up the courage to approach, the dog barked like a maniac and the man told me to scram. It scared me a little, but it cemented the loneliness inside. In the weeks that followed, it blossomed in me like spiritual nano-weights attached to every drop of blood in my body. I barely understood my sudden _need _for company, but somehow I still ached for it.

I remember the pathetic relief when awareness dawned that my name was Kid; that like everything else, I had a label! I practiced all the words I managed to identify and understand, but I practiced that name until I could say it flawlessly. Of course, that illusion was fated to be debunked not too long after when I finally realized the actual meaning of the word.

At some point around this time I remember getting caught again, this time by a band of teenagers who beat and taunted and tormented me for what must've been hours. Though I still growled and howled like an animal, I was finally human enough to recognize some of the taunts and derision they threw at me. With some accuracy, they called me a mad dog, as well as such eloquent obscenities as "Dirty Fucker", "Little Bitch", and "Shithead". I can remember their threatening voices better than anything else.

Three drunk delinquents saw me climbing out a warehouse window, then cornered me when I dropped to the ground. They took by loot, hit and kicked me, and then dragged me stumbling through a couple blocks by my matted hair – where we met up with a few of their mates, and things really got interesting. We retreated to a hovel somewhere and I got pummeled a little more, until blood was dripping down my face, then the twisted fuckers settled down and made me drink rotgut with them. It tasted like poison and I tried to spit it out, but then one of the thugs put his hands around my neck and started strangling me, threatening to kill me if I didn't. Vomit was dribbling out of my mouth, and snot from my nose, and blood was everywhere, but somehow I managed to empty the entire bottle without being strangled to death. I was saved from any more by the arrival of several women that I recognized as prostitutes, who then began fucking the men right there on the dirty floor. I had, until that day, never actually been able to figure out what it was those skanky chicks did to survive, but this came as no more of a shock than any other adult behavior. Besides, I was able to use the diversion to hobble to safety. By this time I had managed to hoard enough food that I was able to sleep and recover for the next couple days.

Such dangers only got worse during later years, as L2 spun more out of control, but the streets of my barrio were never anything but mean. I suppose that I must've had parents at some point, abandoned babies don't just _survive_. Someone must've taken care of me for at least a couple years, but I haven't a clue. And I've really, really tried to remember.

There's a long time, stretching backwards with seeming infinity, of begging and stealing to satiate my bottomless pit of hunger, and of hiding from the monsters that roamed the streets, and of sleeping in the vents. I was surely the youngest meat ever to run the streets of L2 and survive to tell the tale.

The first date I can accurately identify is the year I met up with Solo, after which nothing was ever the same again. I was probably five or six (without a birth certificate, who knows?) and Solo was nine. I spotted him on the choice corner of my modest hunting grounds, leaning casually against the wall, but looking suspicious as Satan to me. Back then, street kids were much rarer than they would be later and I was unused to seeing an unaccompanied kid on my turf, especially one looking so neat and trim. I watched him all afternoon, neglecting an empty stomach that begged me to track down some food.

But I ultimately pushed my luck and he spotted me as I weaved through the crowd, passing close by him. I immediately realized that I had caught his attention, and dashed my retreat into the shadows, only to be followed. It stunned me stupid when I heard him call, "Wait up, kid, don't be scared!"

I don't know why I stopped, except that I was suddenly not afraid. He hadn't yelled at me the way the adults always did, hadn't taunted me like the street youth. I'm a curious little shit, sometimes bordering on stupidity, so I stopped and turned around. We eyeballed each other for a weighted moment before he continued, "I'm new here, and you look like you know this place pretty well, so maybe you could show me around."

It felt like a minor miracle that I was able to understand most of what this boy was saying to me, but I was definitely still suspicious. I forced my lips and tongue to form words that I had never before addressed to another living being, "W-what?"

For a long moment the older child considered me with a wise expression, and I can only imagine what he made of the skinny, dirty street vermin before him. He must've sensed that I was one wrong move from either fighting or flighting because when he spoke he chose his words carefully, "I need to get a feel for this place quick, if I'm going to make it here, as you probably know. . . You're the first little kid I've seen round this barrio, maybe I could look after you, protect you from the teenagers."

I had no idea how to react, if I should continue to engage this strange boy or just run away like I always did when adults tried to talk to me. After some obvious hesitation, my natural suspiciousness prompted me to croak defensively, "Don' need no look-k-kin' af'er!"

"Well," the charismatic child grunted, nodding in thoughtful agreement and, in retrospect, clearly figuring out what to say in order to gain a modicum of my trust. "You look like a smart kid, I'm sure you can find another use for some muscle like me?" As would soon become apparent, Solo always knew the exact words and approach to make me, and everyone else, see things his way.

The older boy and I stared at each other for long calculating moments before I managed to believe in the surreal situation. There was this undeniable ache that constantly mourned my survival-induced solitude, urging me to consider the stranger's proposal. He stood tall and confident, in such an untouchable way that was clearly foreign to the streets, and I could recognize somehow that he held the secrets to a better way. The new, lonely aspect of my personality felt overwhelmed at just being addressed like a human being, so it was all I could do to stare foolishly.

"My name's Solo. What's yours?" the sharp boy delivered with a friendly smile, still trying hard to put me at ease.

I remember being terrified though, because I had never had to participate in any interaction beyond a few obscenities; but it was exhilarating too, and I offered anything I could to keep his attention. "Dunno, no n-name . . . No name but Kid. . . Kid meybe? Ifn you want. . . Buh no name."

I shut up, appalled that, on my first time behind the verbal wheel, I had spewed forth such scattered weakness. Embarrassed and sure that he had not understood a single word I had tried to say, I moved towards a quick exit, but once again he said just the right thing to put me off my guard, "That's okay. I'll call you Kid if you want, or nothing at all."

It was such an unexpected reaction that I turned around hesitantly from the link fence I had been about to climb. I could tell at that moment that he knew exactly what he was looking at, a half-animal wild child that could barely speak or understand. He was, incomprehensibly, still reaching out to me. I wanted to accept.

"Here's the thing, Kid: these streets look mean, and I don't fancy facing them alone, and you're the only kid I've met so far. Maybe we could, you know, face the streets together? We could keep each other safe."

I could barely believe my comprehension of what he was saying. It seemed inconceivable that there could be someone else that knew what it was like to be so abjectly alone. I scrambled for an answer that wouldn't make me sound like the ignorant Neanderthal that my scowl of concentration surely betrayed. "Safe togeder?"

Solo smiled at me again, and a strange new warmth tingled through me body. It was as though previously dormant muscles suddenly blossomed, and my own lips pulled into a wide unnatural grin. Solo chuckled and rubbed the matted top of my head. We spent the day implementing Solo's clever two-person maneuvers and stealing more than I had ever managed on my own.

I took him to the condemned building that I was squatting in by that point, having at this point upgraded from the decidedly cramped ventilation shafts. He looked around curiously, clearly never having seen comparable squalor, and his nose wrinkled at the smell. I was embarrassed, but he didn't pass judgment; he just sat down on the pile of ragged blankets that made up my bed. He would have years to teach me the basics of keeping my body and my dwelling clean.

"Why you in duh barrio?" I finally dared, after considering the wording for the better part of the day.

Solo looked at me hard, sizing me up before finally nodding. "I hate it back home. I have nothing . . . Only a good-for-nothing father that . . . is worse than no father at all. It was . . . just horrible." Solo's voice had dropped to a quiet rasp and he rubbed his face before turning to me with a tired smile. "That's why I know it's gonna be better here, with you."

The boy was a certifiable nutbat for believing this, but I thought it was great that I had someone who wanted to spend time with me. I fell asleep in his arms that night, and held him tight as he thrashed and moaned against nightmares at dawn.

We fell into a routine easily, and we were very good together. We stole, scammed, and swindled; we pick-pocketed, we begged, and we survived the hell out of L2. I worshiped every strength and weakness that made up Solo, and he was the only human model I had ever been able to study up close, so I molded myself into his shadow, his right-hand man. I was so attune to him I could almost read his thoughts, and we were able to work in phenomenal synchronicity. I can only fanthom what he got out of the relationship, but I got everything – a friend, a guardian, and a teacher; human contact, company, and every opportunity for new insights, experiences, and feelings.

I didn't understand all that back then, only that Solo was haunted by the nightmares of his father; but in retrospect it seems likely that Solo was fleeing sexual as well as physical abuse. He seemed confident though, and so clever, to my six-year-old self, while all I could offer was a tour of the seedier L2 barrios, complete with grunted tips and warnings. Over the next several weeks, I showed him basic tricks that he was able to capitalize on better by virtue of being several years older.

Solo was bigger, of course, but he had much to learn when it came to the rougher side of street survival. He was all punches and kicks, strong and direct; he hadn't yet accepted the underdog ways. _I_ had learned early on that, when you are smaller and weaker than your opponents, you must be able to make up for it with strategy. The underdog strategy is to strike quick, deadly, and low. Let them make the first move, but be prepared to retaliate as absolutely as possible to prevent any escalation. You have to be willing to take the struggle to the most drastic level immediately, catching the enemy unprepared for the rapid transition, and then annihilating him . . .

That's not right through, because those are the lessons I learned during my Gundam training. They are so ingrained in me now that they bleed into every memory and thought I have. I think, in the early days, the underdog way meant a wild berserker charge at my opponent, with no regards for my own safety, followed by a scramble to rip him apart . . . preferably while still being able to get away.

When Solo and I sparred, he always landed the first blow with his long limbs, but then I rushed him regardless of the pain and tackled him to the ground, kneeing and clawing and head-butting and biting. Solo learned to be thoroughly cautious while I was near, but he also became very proficient at no-holds-barred unarmed combat. I was glad to be of value and assistance in any way, even if it was in teaching Solo the finer details of my animal side. I was ashamed of my poor linguistic skills, of my ignorance and distrust and ferocity, but the animal in me didn't care about such things at all; it knew that my savage beastliness was the only reason I had survived even this long. Though every day I spent with Solo was a day closer to becoming human, and having my beast locked up forever.

In our early weeks together, he spent long night hours helping me learn to speak better and educating me on all the basic things that always maintained such a chasm between me and the rest of the breathing colony. I remember one time Solo and I took a shortcut to the neighboring barrio and we passed a corpse. I just kept walking, but had to come back when Solo just stood immobile over the body, his mouth slightly open.

When I approached him, he never tore his eyes away as he whispered, "I knew it was bad out here, but not this bad . . . Kid, this woman's dead."

I nodded, it was obvious after all and it didn't mean anything to me. I have no idea how many corpses I had seen by that point, it was never anything that had ever had much of an impact. But then Solo was looking at me critically, and I knew he was expecting more of a reaction, so I frowned and focused on the body on the ground. It was frail, with contusions visible on her arms, legs, and face, and if I had known the word I would have diagnosed the cause of death as exposure. My limited vocabulary just grunted, "Too weak n sick to sleep ou'side."

Solo actually appeared distressed at that response, and I almost panicked; I craved approval so badly, but I didn't know what my idol wanted of me. He must have seen the alarm in my expression because he suddenly calmed and grew solemn, turning his hurt eyes from me to dead woman. He closed his eyes and, to my stupefaction, recited, "There but for the grace of god walk I."

His eyes blinked up for a second to fix on mine, then he continued his bastardized eulogy. "Take her, Shinigami, god of death, for you have won her fair and square in this game of life and death . . . I hope we'll be more lucky when we face you, whatever mask you wear, but we know that only you can win in the end . . . Ashes to ashes, dust to dust . . . May honor and happiness be there for you in heaven."

This entire affair was about the most astounding thing I had ever witnessed in my life up until then. What fair game? Shinigami, god, heaven? What did ashes or dust have to do with anything? I didn't even know where to begin my questions, though I sensed that it was not the time or place. Still, Solo had succeeded in what was surely his intention; I was never able to look at corpse the same way again.

That was just one more thing that Solo gave me . . . It seemed as though I had suddenly been given the key to unlocking a whole world of things that I had barely realized I had been missing. At his urging, I approached Madeline in the narrow fabrics store that she owned.

She frowned at me for a long moment before recognizing me with astonishment. "You! You ran away in the middle of the night! Scared me half to death, you did."

I shuffled my feet, fighting against the twitching urge in my muscles, and nodded shamefaced. "Sorry, mum."

Her expression was genuinely surprised and impressed. "And here I was thinking all this time that you couldn't speak!"

"I'm a-learnin'," I mumbled, embarrassed beyond all reason but bursting with pride nonetheless.

Madeline smiled then and looked at me appreciatively, almost laughing. "You're looking clean. Somebody taking care of you?"

The strange adult attention was beginning to overwhelm me, so I blurted, "Thank you!" and sprinted out the door. I dashed back to Solo and told him everything, sharing with him this unexpected pleasure that had come from the encouraged interaction. It had terrified me and thrilled me all at once, and all because Solo had shoved me in the right direction – something he would continue to do over the next couple years.

Indeed, nearly a year after falling in with each other, Solo commented to me, "I'm so glad we found each other. It's like you're a little me. . . Do you think that's what it's like to have a brother?"

I shrugged; that certainly wasn't something I would know anything about.

We were reclining on the bed pile, and Solo suddenly rolled over and came up next to me. He slowly reached a hand towards me, knowing that I startle easy, and he gently pulled the long hair out of my face. He smiled at me affectionately and said, "You really should take better care of your hair. I bet it would look really nice brushed out."

I flushed with embarrassment under the attention, "Dunno how."

Solo laughed, then reached over to the crate where he kept his stuff to retrieve the brush-thing I saw him take to his own hair sometimes. With a mischievous smile on his face, he ordered me to turn around, then began trying to untangle my hair.

The next half-hour ranks as one of the happiest of my early life. Sure, Solo was doing only as well as a kid could, and it rather hurt, but I absolutely _adored _the attention, of being focused on so fully and physically. Eventually even the pain faded, and then there were just hypnotic, comforting strokes along my scalp.

When Solo's hands finally stilled, he asked solemnly. "Would you be my brother?"

My mouth fell open a little bit, and the unexpected jolt of sheer glee spurred me out of my trance to turn around and cry out, "Yes, Solo, yes yes yes!"

We grinned at each other like fools, then embraced one another as hard as we could, as though a part of us would always be in that grip. Solo pulled back a little and was met by my dumb Cheshire grin, to which he said solemnly, "Well, then, as your brother, I must tell you: you need a name."

That made me frown, as I felt that loss somewhat deeply and it was not a subject I cared to dwell on. "Where do I get one?"

Solo shrugged. "Wherever you want. Make one up."

I had no idea at all, and only a vague concept of where to start. "I like the name Solo."

Solo laughed at me, and I rolled away, disappointed with my lack of understanding. Solo was a good teacher though, and he shortly explained, "Solo is _my _name, brothers don't usually have the same name. You need a name that no one else has, that describes you. You're lucky even, I didn't get to pick my names, I just got whatever crap my father picked for me."

"You don' like your name?" I asked, surprised and confused.

Solo shook his head vigorously, looking despondent suddenly. "Ha!" he barked bitterly. Solo! It means Alone! My bastard father gave me thaisname when my mother died during . . . you know."

I didn't know, but I nodded anyway, and I wanted desperately to be enough to banish his unhappiness. "You're not alone anymore. We're two now. Gimme a name that means together."

It was Solo's turn to be surprised, then he smiled at me as he studied me and considered, making my guts twist in unbearable anticipation. I had wanted a name for as long as I could recall, had even thought I had figured it out at one point.

"Duo," Solo finally pronounced with confidence, and I felt a thrill of pleasure on hearing the name on his lips. It was so perfect that I moved next to Solo and hugged him hard again.

He kissed my cheek and I whispered, "Duo."

We were dirty and destitute, but times seemed good for a while with Solo at my side.

I remember the first time I realized what that word meant that adults used so often – war. Solo had explained how it was responsible for the sudden and awful shift that had come over L2, that even a child like myself could not help but notice. The cost of the war was stressing the already poverty-stricken colony, and crime (which had always been high) was skyrocketing. The streets were becoming more dangerous and the mayor began dividing the colony into privileged, gated "safe areas" and abandoned, free-for-all "open areas".

The civil war was making people both afraid and angry, and tempers were growing short. Rioting and violence became common occurrences, in addition to the rampant crime and pervasive fear; fires broke out from time to time. It seemed like suddenly there were street children on every corner, and predators prowling every block. Solo and I had to be quicker and cleverer than ever before, and wary of the vultures that came out at night. To make matter worse, the colony reduced the temperature standards to save money, so it was always fucking _cold_. Solo and I walked around bundled in ragged blankets at all times of day.

Eyeballing the passers-by one day, Solo mused morosely, "These kids aren't going to make it on their own."

Glancing at him, I saw that he was gazing at a scraggly child begging on the corner. The girl was probably around my age, but surely didn't have a fraction of the survival odds.

"We should ask her to join us," Solo grunted.

Frowning, I looked at the girl again – she wouldn't have the confidence to execute our scams, or the agility to manage our heists. What was he thinking? "We don' have enough to feed a bunch of kids," I argued anxiously, having lived this long by looking after numero uno.

"We can use them, like an army, and protect them at the same time, see?" Solo replied, turning so that our faces were very close. "But I can't do it without you. No one is better at surviving these streets than you."

Once again Solo knew exactly what to say, and I flushed in delight at the compliment. I looked back at the girl and tried to feel what I imagined Solo felt. . . Was it sympathy I was supposed to feel? She was certainly pathetic and . . . alone. I could empathize with that; and maybe I too had benefited from Solo's sympathy. Perhaps I had been just as pathetic when Solo had approached me. The idea upset me, but I strangled the emotion and forced myself to nod casually and concede, "Okay."

We approached her cautiously, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. Solo removed one of his ragged blankets and held it out to her as we crouched next to her. "You look cold."

Dark fearful eyes peered at us in turn, and her little fist tightened around her small knapsack of belongings. I frowned slightly, "You gotta hide your stuff. So no one can take it when you out."

She was surprised, but she nodded eventually, then let Solo hand her the blanket. "I'm Solo, and this here is Duo. What's your name?"

She blinked slowly, and I was beginning to suspect that the girl was, well, _slow_, when she stuttered, "T-tessie."

Solo released one of those benevolent smiles that got me every time, then said, "Well, Tessie, here's the thing. We're starting a posse, a gang of kids really, and we were wondering if you'd like to join."

The skinny thing appeared torn between relief and disbelief. "Can I. . . eat?"

"Of course you can," Solo soothed, as though food grew on trees (though even trees were rare on L2). "Duo, give Tessie a ration bar."

I scowled as I dug into the nasty rags that I used as clothes; the ration bars had been my reward for to scaling four stories of wall to reach an unbarred window. It was something even Solo couldn't have managed and I felt selfishly possessive of them, but I still did what Solo requested and I handed Tessie the unopened nutrition bar.

She tore at the wrapping and devoured the food, more akin to a starved animal than a human child. I knew then that she and I had something in common: at one time I had been just as close to giving into the wildness of single-minded survival. If Solo hadn't found me, I may have never been more than a human animal, and that wasn't so different from the opportunity here to save her life.

Eventually, she turned her attention back to us. "What'd I gotta do?"

I arched an eyebrow, silently asking Solo the same question. He appeared uncertain for a moment then ventured, "Well, what're you good at?"

Tessie brighten faintly at this question and answered after hesitation, "I can. . . dance."

I rolled my eyes but Solo smiled broadly. "Well, then, you can dance. And we'll use your dancing to get money and food!"

At that moment, Solo secured a second sibling that would worship him. And he managed to even keep his promise: we devised several plots that pivoted on the distraction provided by Tessie's bizarre street performances.

Our lives changed significantly after that first day with Tessie. Over the next several months we quickly recruited a band of twelve abandoned and orphaned kids. They were a raw and terrified bunch, but I was impressed to witness the power that came with numbers. At eleven Solo was the oldest of the ragged bunch, and yet we pulled off heists on par with the teenage gangs that roamed the streets. Our hovel became a real home, teaming with laughing, screaming, crying children. Their names are inscribed in my heart: Robin, Toni, Alejo, Lear, Mariana, Lavi, Puppy, Orion, Mandela, Bell, Shaka, and Tessie. We called ourselves Solo's Wolf Pack, and sometimes we howled out windows at imaginary moons.

With more kids working with us, our operations grew more ambitious, so Solo and I often spent the days apart, executing the different plans or different branches of the same plan. My aching fears of abandonment were eased at night by the fact that he still slept with me cuddled in his arms. A number of the kids were clearly older than me, but I always maintained a position of relative authority – in part because of Solo's reliance on me as some sort of expert at living on the edge. The other kid had their own areas of expertise.

Mariana could cook and clean (well, compared to everyone else) and comfort the younger kids; Toni and Alejo, the identical twins, perfected a little double trouble routine that never failed to yield results; Tessie had an amazing ability to draw attention to her mediocre self, much to everyone' benefit; Puppy could cry at a moment's notice and managed to milk every single charitable soul that dared traverse our neighborhood; Orion had a knack for salvage and mechanics; Lavi could sell condoms to nuns with her wide-eyed conviction; Robin could both disappear into the crowd and yell her lungs off; Lear could pass as a slumming rich kid when dressed appropriately; Shaka had spider's fingers; and Mandela was a Houdini monkey like me.

But Bell was just plain trouble. The creeps had their eyes on her from a young age, and she couldn't help but notice their interest, to hear their offers. Solo always insisted that we never sell our bodies, that doing so would forever sabotage our happiness, and we mostly agreed that he was right. Still, I wasn't really surprised when Bell's tragedy began to unfold, as I had seen it before. Over several weeks she managed to contribute an unprecedented amount of money to the group pot, but her behavior changed drastically – from bubbly and irreverent to fearful and timid. When Solo figured it out, he was so angry that he yelled until she cried piteously and swore that she would never do anything like that again. He did this in front of the entire pack, so that no one would ever forget this all-important lesson.

For a while, we were all family, as dysfunctional and wonderful as any other, living in one of the condemned buildings by the docks. It felt nice to wake up to so much life, even when it involved getting jumped on by Toni, or the equally rambunctious Alejo. It never failed to send me bolting out of sleep straight into full defensive mode, but Solo always laughed and joined into the mock pillow fight with the rags that made up all of our bedding.

I would feel lonely then, having leaped away and now watching them from the outside, unable to understand why I couldn't react like Solo and the other kids. Wrestling was about survival to me, not . . . fun.

I was growing older. Pushing maybe eight, I was easily responsible for a good fourth of the band's intake. I was inexplicably faster, more agile, and more adaptable than any of the other kids. As I began to appreciate my own power to help myself and others, it grew easier to be generous with my bounty, and with my affections. Soon enough I had developed the same sense of duty towards the less fortunate that my hero Solo possessed. I was younger than most of the other kids, but far more capable.

On the down side, Solo and I no longer spent as much time together. As I began running more jobs by myself and in a leadership position with the other kids, I started noticing that in some way I was, well, _reverting_.

When I was around the rest of the pack I felt human, I acted human, maybe I even overcompensated to act like a good person; but when I got down to the dirty work, all that crap faded away until it was just the me-beast and the target. Then I executed the fuck out the operation.

One such operation I recall specifically because of the pride I felt at my performance. The memory is from one of the early days, when things on L2 were getting bad, but had not yet plummeted into the horrific abyss that lay hidden in the near future. I remember being annoyed by Solo's politicking, though I knew it was a necessary element of managing a band of thirteen wild rascals. In this case he had to talk some stupid matter out between the plaintiff, overly sensitive Orion, and the ever trouble-making twins, Alejo and Toni.

It was most definitely not my scene, I thought they were all behaving like babies, so I took Mandela out with me to round up some value. It was dusk, and I could tell that Mandela was worried about the approaching dark. It didn't matter though, I'd make this quick; and smaller boy idolized me too much to object. I just couldn't understand how all the other kids could get caught up in minor squabbles with each other. How could they care about such things when Survival was such a slippery snake?

I scanned the crowd for several minutes, urging the opportunity to show itself; and as always, it was just waiting to be found.

"That one there," I gestured towards a burly middle-aged man leading a mule with a boarded-up cart. As soon as I saw it, its flaw was obvious – it was open at the top, with canvas bags peaking over the rim. And if it continued on its path, it would pass right under the crumbling and abandoned footbridge between the old buildings on Independence. I was off running even as the plan formed in my mind, Mandela at my heals. I stopped by Madeline's shop and quickly asked to borrow her pole reach; I had grown a lot closer to her since gaining a pack of lost children that essentially begged for caring adult supervision. It still required some quick maneuvering though, using a haphazard charm that was just beginning to manifest, and claiming most convincingly that some bully had thrown my backpack up on a light post. Madeline gave in, and then Mandela and I ran several blocks to Independence Street, relieved to spot the cart still making its slow journey.

"Here's what you gotta do. When the guy gets here, you stall him under the bridge so I can unload. Then, whenever you see an out, book it until he leaves. Simple, right?"

Mandela nodded, then I scurried up the stairway of the old residential building. On the second floor I traversed the hallway to a specific window next to the shoddy wall that had been plastered over the original entrance to the footbridge. I climbed onto the sill and easily swung myself onto the rickety bridge. Just in time too, because I could hear the creaking of the cart's wheels and the beat of the mule's hooves.

All railing was long gone, so I simply laid low and peered down, pole reach in my hand but held close to my body. I was relieved that my elevation provided confirmation of what I thought I had seen – the target was using canvas army bags to transport his goods. I smiled, this was going to be easy, and it was just dark enough for no one to even notice.

Then, it was time. Mandela was moaning loudly and pretending to almost throw up on the target (which he does _very_ effectively). The guy yelled, and I heard the cart stop. I sprung into motion, using the pole reach to snag one of the many straps on one of the military issue bags. It was almost too heavy for my thin arms, but sheer willpower hauled the bag silently from the top of the cart to the balcony. Now I could hear Mandela crying hysterically and I quickly snagged another bag. This one pressed against the side of the cart and the mule shifted forward. I heard the guy cursing again as I desperately manhandled the bag onto the balcony.

I breathlessly rolled the bags up against the wall, and then crouched to listen. I was relieved that the commotion on the street seemed to die down, then again the sounds of the wheels turning and hooves, amidst mumbled curses. Mandela must've gotten away, the boy could run almost as fast as me, and I was _fast_. That boy in particular had grown on me.

I eagerly dug through the bag and was thrilled at my find – each bag had ration bars, a few cans of nonperishable foods, a can opener, basic adult clothes, shoes, soap, toilet paper and various toiletries, pens, paper, a couple knives, rope, bandages, a few basic medicines, and a med injector. After about five minutes I packed everything back up and then gave a sharp wolf howl, followed shortly by Mandela's own response. I returned with the double yelp that meant All Clear. Not thirty seconds later, Mandela was thundering up the stairs and then hanging out the window. Together we got our bounty back on solid ground. A high-energy kid like me, he could barely manage to keep his voice down as he eyeballed the canvas bags. "Is it good?" he practically whined.

I grinned. "Jackpot. Rations, clothes, meds, everything."

Mandela clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle his squeal.

The trek back to den was hell. The bags were ginormous, and _heavy_, and we had to take the roundabout way in order to drop the pole reach off at Madeline's while being as inconspicuous as possible; but the welcome we got from the troupe made it well worth all our efforts. Everyone laughed and screamed, feeling the safety of bought time, if only for a little while. Lavi hugged me and fawned over me, and as usual I ate it up.

Mandela and I ruffled through our bags, passing around the clothes and blankets; the food and medical supplies went in the communal storage; then we split up what little remained between the two of us. I gave the pen and paper to Mariana, because I had no use for them, but she could write a little. She made me promise to let her teach me to write my name, for she was as close to a teacher as any of us had, even to Solo. I agreed, but what I really wanted her to do was show me how to use the comb that had I just acquired; I had the basic idea, but I feared that my hair was too knotted to be untangled.

Even Solo looked impressed at my catch, though his congratulations were followed by concern. When we got a moment alone he asked, "You didn't get these off the Alliance, did you?"

"Naw. Jus' lifted them off a big ol' cart." Did he think I was crazy? Alliance was not quite on the radar of my capabilities just yet.

Solo just frowned deeper, inspecting a couple of my personal items before picking up the small machete. "These are more than survival bundles."

"Gangs?" I offered doubtfully; they were too well entrenched to need such supplies.

Solo shook his head pensively. "Or . . . terrorists?"

My jaw dropped a little at that; what did I know of terrorists? Would they try to hunt me down for pilfering their supplies? Were they the reason that the Alliance had such a stick up its ass? I forced myself to shrug and acknowledge, "Maybe."

I thought a lot after that about the Alliance and about the terrorists, but as hard as I tried I couldn't seem to piece it together. The Alliance soldiers tormented us and clearly considered us cockroaches, and the terrorists . . . well, all I had ever heard were rumors.

Another year cam and went, continuing war and growing destitution taking their toll. Food was scarce, sanitation was worse than ever, and environmental controls ran at three quarters power; everyone was under constant strain and fear, growing thinner and meaner. The "open areas" began to feel like civilian war zones, everyone carried a gun and everyone was on the lookout for the opportunity to take advantage of a situation. We never went out alone, we stuck to cautious strategies and streets, and Solo tried to keep us all safe, but we still had to steal food to survive. Taking risks was simply necessary, especially for me, who seemed immune to probability. Solo forbid us to have guns, but he must've known that I had started packing ever since that sick fuck Alliance soldier had gotten his hands on me.

The asshole had come out of nowhere and dragged me into an alley, where he kicked me and groped me a bit. Then he took out his gun and pointed it between my terrified eyes.

"Do you like it? It's a real powerful piece of metal, isn't it?" he hissed into my ear. I was frozen in fear, waiting desperately for any opportunity to get out of this, then he dragged the tip of the gun from my temple, down my cheek, towards my lips. "I'm going to shove this baby up inside your tight ass."

I might have whimpered, but then the gun was past my trembling lips, bruising my gums and forcing my teeth apart, and then the barrel of his handgun was thrust down my throat. The soldier chuckle and then looked down, his attention temporarily distracted by something his other hand was doing in hi spants, and the flash of opportunity triggered my berserker reaction –

I flung my head back and kicked out at the same time, hands springing up to rip the weapon out of his hand. He staggered back less than a meter, but it was enough for me to raise that gun and shoot him repeatedly in one knee, then the other. He was screaming in agony and my breath was loud in my ears, so I turned and ran and ran until I was blocks away from him, and blocks away from home, and then I collapsed in tearful exhaustion . . .

Only to realize that I was still holding the very same gun that I had recently fellated. I forced my pansy-self not to be horrified by this, and insisted that I had earned this weapon that would now help me provide for my tribe. I sneaked back to our lair and hid my experience from Solo, locking it away with the creature that comes out time and again to do what those soft humans can't manage . . .

I know how deranged this makes me sound, but at the time I was having difficulty reconciling the dog-eat-dog streets with the humanity that Solo was fostering within me and our little wolf pack. I continue to grapple with this issue for many years, and in different manifestations, and I will likely continue to grapple with it for years to come.

Back then though, my duality was everyone's gain. I think Solo probably felt guilty for relying on me so much – he thanked me once. I was sitting on our makeshift bed, using a lighter to fuse twine into a rope. He came and sat down next to me, watching me for a long time before I turned my attention to him and asked, "What?"

He had a funny smile on his face and he said, "Your hair looks really good now that you've started brushing it. . . You've really changed, in a good way."

I blushed and glanced down at my hands, more embarrassed at what a disgusting rat I used to be than proud of my accomplishments. I still had a lot to catch up on.

"Lear just showed me the shoes you got for him." Solo continued after it became clear that I wasn't going to say anything. "Thank you."

He was looking at me so sincerely that I couldn't help bust flush. "It was nothing."

"It's more than something, Duo. You're the reason our scraggly band is still around . . . Times are tough and you're carrying a lot more than your weight. I should be able to do more –"

But I didn't want his guilt; my broadened horizons had made me confident and I wanted to be relied on, so I interrupted, "I'm strong!"

Then Solo's face softened almost to sadness. "Yeah, you are. So strong I can barely understand it." I could tell that he wanted to say more, but his thoughts were deeply conflicted. Finally, he said, "Thank you, for keeping the family together. You're our provider, like a father should be."

He hugged me then, and I hugged him back forcefully, as though clinging to him would save me from the suddenly dread of looming loss.

I have always been strong, and I thrive on challenge. I had been good before, but now I was emboldened by success and need. I had turned breaking and entering into an art that I inflicted on increasingly ambitious targets. In a numb trance, I infiltrated, diverted, disarmed, mislead, hacked, jacked; I lifted anything that would sell – vids, hardware, software, data, power units, weapons, food, meds, jewelry, antiques, anything. I picked up all sorts of new skills with electronics and mechanics, basic but effective.

I would have held myself back except that I almost never failed to at least break even on a serious, pre-planned heist. But no matter how much I managed to scrape together, it was never enough to provide fully for my family of ever hungry orphans.

Then, the crippling blow came: colonists started falling sick. I overheard rumors about people wasting away and dying, but still the threat was no more real to me than the war. I had always been quite healthy, and starvation and murder were my local killers, so it was hard to look far beyond that. I had noticed that the air smelt staler, and that sewage fumes would come and go, but I didn't really understand the connection between failing environmental controls and pathogenic disease.

What few scraps of warning I had received were enough to terrify me when I first noticed something wrong. At first it was just that Puppy's skin seemed to sallow, and that he moped about a lot. When he missed dinner one evening to sleep, I went to Solo.

"Yeah, I noticed," he sighed. "Let him sleep for now. I'll start giving him antibiotics tomorrow. Hopefully that'll be enough."

He had heard the same stories I had, but he didn't say anything. I was probably being paranoid, kids get sick all time, especially when they live our lifestyle. Besides, it wasn't like we could afford a trip to the hospital.

But Puppy didn't get better; the antibiotics didn't work and his joints began hurting so bad he could barely get out of bed. The troupe took turns lying with him, but because of my scavenging duties I didn't get the chance until I requested it after weeks of watching others comfort poor Puppy.

I still slept with Solo most nights, and I cherished that time with him, but I couldn't escape the fear that I was about to lose something very valuable; something overlooked. Maybe I just wanted to say my own good-byes to Puppy.

I approached his bedding and slipped under the blankets next to him. He blinked with his wide, sunken eyes. "You shouldn' get so close, you might get sick."

"Naw, idn't no way a runt like you can kill Duo," I responded and cuddled close to him, trying to lend him my healthy warmth. He didn't resist and after a long moment, he started crying on my shirt.

"I don' wanna die, Duo," he sniffled, and I hugged him as tight as I dared. I didn't know what to say, all I knew of death was that it could happen to anyone, at any time; and that I could sense it on Puppy a mile away. Even as I felt his breathing and his heartbeat, I smelled the cloying, sweaty smell of biological decay.

I stroked his once curly hair, now a little patchy, and whispered, "I don' want you to die neither, Puppy."

There was a long empathetic silence before Puppy whimpered into my chest, "Tell me a story?"

It was a request I got with some frequency, so I responded with the standard, "I don' know any stories."

Puppy finally turned his face upward for air and said, "Tell 'bout how you saved us today."

His phrasing left me uneasy with an aftertaste of personal failure. Still, somewhere along the way I had actually developed a propensity for storytelling (due entirely to the kids habitually pestering me for tales of my increasingly legendary exploits), so it wasn't too difficult to accommodate Puppy. What unfolded was an adventure through the sewers, hotwiring a security system, and breaking into this loaded mansion. Lear and I packed up two big luggage pieces, took showers, and dressed up in the richie clothes; then we just walked out of there like it was nobody's business!

The poor boy was asleep not halfway through the story, but I knew that he had enjoyed it immensely, especially the ridiculous details and exaggerations that I wove in. By the time he nodded off, Robin and Shaka had moved to sit near so I finished the tale for hthem. It always shocked me that the other kids were so willing to listen to my broken speaking.

I felt guilty that night because Puppy, and others too like Lavi and Robin and Mandela, seemed to admire me so much. I was clearly a freak for being able to do what I could at that age, and I was just contributing what skills I had. It was the other kids who brought the humanity, and Solo who was the real leader.

Puppy died a few days later, while I was out on a scam. We took his body out by the docks, covered by his blanket, then, in the tradition of the L2 underclass, lit him on fire. I had seen bodies before, but I couldn't remember ever knowing anyone who died up. I felt numb, as if Puppy had never existed; but I also felt wrong, as if my memory was just playing tricks on me.

Over the next six months, we were struck down one by one. Tessie and the twins had grown emaciated and bedridden, and both Bell and Lavi had been looking poorly for a couple weeks. Everyone was tired and afraid, and I could only operate by severely detaching the hysteria that demanded I fix this desperate situation. I was tempted by the familiar painlessness of apathy, but I also cherished every relationship I had and I felt their loss. It was only through the pain and happiness of my relationships that I felt confident of my humanity.

When we burned Toni's body, and Alejo cried piteously to be allowed to die too, I came up with a drastic plan. We had neither cash, nor documents, so the L2 hospitals were not an option, but that didn't mean we couldn't steal ourselves a doctor. Especially if we could arrange to get Tessie and Alejo to a meeting place near the hospital, then I wouldn't even have to take the doctor far . . .

In the background, I could hear Solo saying some prayer, far more eloquent that the extemporaneous one I had heard a couple years ago. "Take what you must, Shinigami, so that you may spare the rest. You are our constant companion, our assurance against never-ending suffering . . ."

I waited until we retired back to our lair, but then the words were spilling out of my mouth, detailing an outrageous plot to save our lives. Solo and Mariana were left staring at me as though I had grown a couple extra heads. The weakling in me craved the affection of these people, and wanted me to run away and hide my outrageous self; but the monster had grown bold when confronted with crumbling chances of survival and it was not afraid to show its face.

Solo was not pleased, almost as if he sensed that the power had just shifted sharply and right out of his court. "And just how will you get a doctor to go anywhere with you?"

"With a gun," I answered, knowing that he would be pissed at that.

"No way," He blurted flatly, dead serious and as commanding as possible, but I was too worked up to take direction anymore.

"I'm not gonna let anyone else die!" I hissed, trying to keep my voice down, and my beast in check.

"Duo! Don't be crazy! Kidnapping a doctor is just going to have the cops hunting for us, or worse if you pick the wrong doc. It'll go horribly wrong and someone will killed." He tried to reason with me, but I wasn't currently listening to the half of me that listened to Solo. My decision had already been made.

"I won' pick the wrong doc," I growled, not arrogant but confident and unwilling to remain in check. "I am doing this with or without you, Solo. You took on all these kids, now I gotta take care of them. You can either help me or watch me… What kind of father are you?"

It was the first time I had ever truly challenged Solo, and I won by kicking below the belt, as usual. Solo paled at my words, and even backed up from me, as though scared… as though he suddenly realized that a part of me was still and always be the feral child that had survived on his own for so long. Had he forgotten who he slept next to most nights?

And so it came to pass that I stood by the building cattycorner to the hospital, scoping out the potential targets. This one too strong, that one looked the type to get hysterical. This was a better neighborhood than I typically scammed, so I felt particular pressure not to make a scene. I followed two candidates that left the area without ever presenting a workable opportunity. After a couple hours, I finally made a move on my third candidate, a thirty-something woman who struck me as the motherly type.

I followed her for a couple blocks until she turned a corner down a smaller street. I snuck up on her quickly but quietly, then appeared suddenly beside her. "Say, mum, is you a doctor?"

Her expression broadcasted the warning bells in her head, surely set off by my ragged clothes and poor hygiene. Still, I was almost two feet shorter than her and probably two decades younger, so she acted unafraid as she asked, "Yes. Are you hurt?"

I watched her like a hawk, her every breath, the contraction of her pupil, the shift of her muscles . . . The predatory look in my eye probably ruled out any possibility of charming her into coming with me. Instead, I held her gaze and stated in my best English, "My friends are sick. In a squat over there."

For a moment, suspicion and curiosity warred on the doctor's face, then she shook her head. "I'm not allowed to see people outside the hospital. You should bring your friends to the clinic tomorrow."

I was in no position to care about what she was _allowed _to do, so I promptly whipped out the large handgun that I had fellated just a few months ago. Trigger happy doesn't even begin to describe it. The doctor froze up, but I was already ice as I jerked the gun in her direction and said, "Jus' do what I say an' I won' hurt you. My friends need a doc, an' I'm gonna make that happen."

For a second it looked like she was going to bolt, but I didn't want that. So I flipped off the safety and bluffed in my fiercest voice, "If you run, I'm jus' gonna shoot you, doc. Then I'll find somebody else."

The doctor's eyes grew wider with fear, and I felt faintly ill at my behavior – I knew that it was rooted in the darkest, most inhuman crevasses of my soul. I pushed such concerns away with characteristic ease and focused on the situation at hand.

"That way," I barked, coming up close behind her and jabbing the gun forcefully into her back. When she took her first tentative steps in correct direction, I added, "Don' be scared. Don' nobody gotta get hurt here. I jus' want to help my friends."

My words soothed her, and my gun compelled her, and somehow I steered us down smaller streets, pressing myself and the gun close one the couple occasions we passed people. Three blocks away was a shabby motel room where my family was waiting. I think the doctor only really believed me when she saw Alejo, curled up on the bed, and Tessie huddled in a chair by the window. She glanced warily at Solo in the corner, but he was already glaring at me and my ill-concealed weapon; it probably set the stage and softened her up for his subsequent plea. "Please, doctor, don't hate us for doing this, we can't do any better for ourselves. We haven't the money or identification to go to the hospital. We have no guardians, we are street urchins, but we're dying from this sickness just the same. Please, doctor, we need help."

The lady doctor melted at his words, as I once again witnessed Solo's unique and impressive ability to speak right to a person's heart, to their core. If he had jacked this bitch, she probably would've accompanied him back to the motel smiling. It made me jealous and a little bitter, cuz I wanted to be able to relate like that to people – in that human way.

Even under Solo's spell, the doctor couldn't perform any miracle beyond telling Shinigami's honest truth: that she had seen this illness recently in the hospital, but there was no cure. Alejo began to cry and Tessie came over to the bed to cuddle with him. I didn't believe the doctor's words for a second, and neither did Solo. "What about them richies?," he retorted angrily, tears in his eyes. "There's no way they're dying of this!"

Only then did the doctor's face grow so empathetic that I could believe her when she said, "The rich don't get this disease, probably because of their lower rates of exposure. This epidemic is only now just spreading among the poor, and so far it hasn't spared anyone that I know of . . ." Then she added with frustration, "The Alliance is working on a cure as we speak, but viruses are hard to cure. It can take years."

Solo's frame sagged noticeably, covering his face with his hands, and for a long moment I feared that he wouldn't say anything else. Finally, he mumbled, "And if we don't have years, there's nothing we can do?"

The doctor sighed and licked her lips before replying, "You can keep them warm, hydrated, and well-fed, and out of harm's way . . . but that won't save them in the end."

Solo shattered then, releasing one strangled sob.

Something inside me broke too, but as always the other me was there to step forth. We had been dealt terrible blows today, and I needed to take my family back to the den to lick its wounds. I ushered the doctor out the door, ignoring the sympathy on her face and in her words as she gushed about this church that would be willing to take us orphans in. I certainly didn't want to hear this, but when she proffered a card, I took it as part of a combo that slammed the door in her fat face.

I helped Solo get Tessie and Alejo back home. Solo didn't seem able to bounce back from this blow, and for the first time I truly doubted that any of us would be surviving our childhoods on L2. We were all gonna die unknown and unwanted.

In the wake of his twin's death and the doctor's prognosis, Alejo's health deteriorated quickly, and he died days later. Tessie held on bravely for another month, and outlived Lavi before passing herself. Bell drowned herself when she grew so ill and thin that her hair and teeth began falling out.

We burned each on by the docks, fleeing the scene before the cops came to investigate. Except for Orion and Lear, who simply failed to return home one evening after going out together, and were never heard from again. Dead and dead, almost certainly.

Life had turned into hell. The Plague was hitting the barrio hard, and the streets reeked of death and decay. There were bodies being left in dumpsters on a daily basis, and people were visibly rotting away even as they tried to make it through the day. Supplies were scarcer than ever, and it became almost impossible to steal anymore without grave risk to self. The only places with food were well secured, like corporate and Alliance facilities and gang domain, but I was driven by desperation. Fear, which until then had always been such a defining element of my being, began to fade as I was forced to psychologically adapt to the constant danger. I steeled the maniacal inner animal that came out when the stakes were high, that kept me struggling on despite loss after loss. I learned compelling lessons during this time about the power every individual holds over their own mind and feelings. I was literally making myself who I needed to be.

Of course, all my efforts were ultimately in vain, and they only prolonged the inevitable: Shinigami took my family from me one by one. With each death, my pain and anger bulged, twisting my humanity even as it fueled the survival-beast. I felt a burning hatred for life that had me flinging myself into action while the other kids faded away.

One night as Solo and I lay in our makeshift bed, his trembling woke me up. I assumed he was having a nightmare, but when I moved to wake him up, his skin was strangely warm. Every muscle in my body tensed then, for I knew then that Solo too would die soon. Adrenaline spiked as I panicked, but it only served to hurl me into crazed action.

I clambered onto him, waking him, grabbing him, desperately attached my mouth to his and sucked wetly in a strange imitation of a kiss. Solo struggled, weakly at first but then more violently, shoving me off him and sitting up. "What are you doing?"

I was in his face again instantly, but I was not so far gone not to recognize the expression of shock, anger, and even fear on his face. I was the monster that assaulted Solo these days, not his bastard father.

The realization made me want to hate myself more, but my feelings of hurt and betrayal were too raw to be distracted by the familiar tangent of self-loathing. Instead, I continued to glare ferociously at him and I barely managed to keep my voice down as I hissed, "I'm not gonna let you die and leave me!"

I knew Solo understood then, because his anger disappeared and he looked distinctly guilty. He wiped the saliva from his mouth, frowning before his expression turned alarmed and even guiltier, but that just pissed me off more. "You _knew_!" I growled quietly, but with force. "You shoulda told _me_ at least!"

He opened his mouth to retort, but the hysterical panic flared again and I attacked again, with a sloppy and open-mouthed. "Duo! Get off!" he yelled, shoving me away forcefully, striking out when that didn't work.

I rolled off the mound of bedding, jaw smarting and the stone under my skin colder even than the air. Solo was glaring at me now, but I could tell that his volume had already woken Mariana and Shaka in the neighboring bed bundle. My first plan abandoned, I scrambled to grab my makeshift coat, then plobbed on the ground to secure my oversized boots. I didn't expect Solo speak so audibly, with such frustration, "Where are you going?"

A dozen possibilities shot through my head – to kill myself, to find a cure, to rob the fuck out of some place, to take on a couple Alliance soldiers, or to simply run forever. I settled for a bitter, "I dunno."

Solo left the bed and crouched down next to me as I pulled on my second boot. He was tense, wary of me in a way that he hadn't been since our early days together. He could recognize the child-beast from the past perhaps. He cautiously extended his hand towards me until it rested on and stilled my arm. "Duo, I need you to be strong again. Please, we need you more now than ever."

I met his eyes then, and I could feel his pain so clearly that it was mine. I felt years older than my meager nine. "You can't ask me to do this Solo, it's too much. I don't want to be alone."

Now that he had my attention, he stood and glanced around the big room that had once housed twelve other kids, but now only Mandela, Robin, and Shaka stood mournfully watching our exchange. Even Marianna, who was sickly, sat watching from her bedding. Then Solo turned back to me stated bluntly, "If anyone is going to live through this, it's going to be you, Duo. If you throw away your life, then there won't be anyone at all to remember to remember me, all of us."

His words horrified me, and I scrambled to my feet. It was even more horrifying to realize that the others were not objecting to his words. The guilt and the pressure and the desperation spurred me into desperate action. I grabbed my pack, quickly checking its contents, then I moved for the door, only pausing for a moment to look back and say, "I won't let you die. I'll find a way."

I think I heard Mandela cry after me, but I legged it out of there as fast as my muscles could pump. They carried me through dark streets where addicts, whores, and creeps threw taunts and a couple rocks at me, but one would've had to run a marathon to catch me. I sprinted by Madeline's closed shop, passed the dump and went clear through the factory district, leaving the Valdia barrio far behind. When I finally stopped running, the artificial light was rising and I was soked with sweat, standing on a street in a barrio several neighborhoods away from mine. From the looks of matters, this area hadn't fared much better than mine, but I did hear one rare sound –

Church bells.

I wouldn't have even recognized them if I hadn't once stolen an obscene amount of money from a church servicing one of the "safe areas". Exhausted curiosity drew me to the bells now, until I was standing in front of the thick wooden doors of a big gray church. The bells hypnotized me for a while longer before echoing silent, and only then did I hear the undeniable sound of children coming from the living quarters adjacent to the church. The Wolf Pack had once numbered fourteen noisy rascals, so I was confident in guessing that there were about twenty kids, maybe even more if they were well-behaved.

I felt to my stomach and chest cramp as I realized what this was: an orphanage.

I made myself to breathe with some effort, and I stumbled away from the church, still clutching my belly. Orphanages weren't supposed to exist, not _really_, it was just something Solo told the younger kids at night to put them to sleep; just another one of those crazy things Solo would always invent, like Santa Claus and Shinigami. . . except that Shinigami was real and he had killed my friends. My thoughts were spinning almost nonsensically.

It took me most of the day to make my tired trek back to Valdia, looking fuzzily at streets and places that I could barely remember having passed. My sense of direction was immaculate, but it didn't matter, I was spiritually lost. I was afraid of who I would become without Solo, without him to teach me how to relate to the rest of humankind. I needed him to make me smile and feel something besides this icy drive to survive, and to provide me with people to care for and love. I would rather die that lose Solo, and I repeated this mantra to myself until I finally found myself glaring at the local hospital through tearing eyes.

I knew that the hospital couldn't help, I had been watching it sporadically for months, and the stream of dying people seemed to come but never leave. I believed the woman doctor when she had said that there was no medicine that could help; especially in the barrios, hospitals were little more than a place to die out of sight and mind.

The thought made me gnash my teeth. Fuck them all for dying, I wasn't going to outlive everyone just because I'm some rat that just won't die! I turned to stomp away, but my attention was caught by the growing roar of an over-flying intracolony shuttle. I squinted at it to identify the Alliance logo on its side, but my ears had already pinpointed the fact that the shuttle was flying significantly lower and faster than safety required. I felt a little flare of hate for them for always being above the law and the rest of the colony's troubles. I bet none of them were starving or dying from Plague. They thought we were scum and wanted us to die, probably had the cure right now but did nothing.

The idea pissed me off almost beyond my exhausted endurance, but there, there on the verge of hysteria, the angry desperation triggered memories, ideas, and intentions to fit together into an impossible, outrageous plan. A plan of action was the signal for my emotions to fade away, my attention to focus, and my will hardened – for it was going to single-handedly drive this through to the bitter end.

The first thing I needed to do was hole up and get some sleep. There were a couple of ration bars and a canteen half-full of water in my pack, but the second step would be to score the supplies needed to pull this off. These were the easiest parts of the plan.

By the next night, I was carrying two packs and I was cautiously making my way to the Alliance base. Adrenaline urged me to rush in recklessly, but a deathgrip on my self-control allowed me to proceed methodically and precisely. I spent three whole days observing the compound, watching guards change shifts and people come and go, and scoping out the rather intimidating wall. I slept fitfully on a rooftop shed for those nights, trying not to think about Solo and the rest dying back home; trying instead to rest and prepare for what was to come. The flaw in my plan was obvious, and I was breaking an early rule I had learned on the street: don't get death trapped somewhere without exit. I also had little idea what lay behind those walls beyond basic architecture, and that ran against my thief's instincts.

In retrospect, this was a 01-style suicide mission, but like him I had a determination to succeed that forestalled any thought of failure. As the artificial night fell on the fourth day, five days since I had run away from home, I dressed in dark gray with fingerless gloves and a ski mask, and left the shed with a small pack of carefully selected supplies. I slunk over several blocks towards the section of the wall I had deemed weakest. The night guard in that station habitually indulged in cigarette breaks outside the observation unit, so I hid across the street, just around the building corner. I wrapped a thick square of tarp around my arm, readied my homemade grappling hook and my tattered rope, then just waited in tense expectation.

My mind was purposely empty, devoid of thought as I immersed myself in the situation. I had not been 'myself' for days (whoever that was), but now I felt like I was a machine, and the rest of me was nowhere to be found. I couldn't allow myself to be distracted by anything. I was waiting for the –

I made out the tiny flash of a lighter on the far side of the wall, adrenaline hit, and within a second my legs bolted into action. I sprinted across the street and threw my grabbling hook up on my first try (that sucker had proven _very _useful over the years). I scrambled up the rope with the help of my gloves, but the climb felt shorter than the wall appeared, and I was quickly pulling the tarp free to cover the fierce glass shards that were cemented along the entire width of the wall. Crouching on the thick tarp, I readjusted my hook and then was rappelling down the other side. All in well under two minutes of identifying the cigarette glow.

The hard part was just about to begin.

I stealthily circled the darkened compound, jogging along the wall and carefully evaluating the different buildings. Aside from the watchtowers, there were only three lighted buildings – one which appeared to be a small residence. The complex clearly wasn't military, but I already knew that. I had chosen this installation to investigate because I had seen a handful of emergency medical vehicles speed in this direction over the years, and that was not something easily explained in the factory district. It wasn't common knowledge, but I had heard the odd rumor about an elite Alliance hospital, and I was placing my bets here. I was in all or nothing, long short or not.

While too small to really qualify as a hospital, there was definitely a medical building on the grounds – two emergency vehicles were parked outside, near a large bay entrance, and there appeared to be a small flyer on the two-story roof. The complex was apparently closed down for the night, but it had to have security beyond my modest hacking skills. Keeping low and inconspicuous, I traversed the perimeter of the building, studying every detailing, looking for something I could work with, for . . .

There.

A wolfish smile pulled over my incisors: parked outside the neighboring compound was a luxury transport vehicle, modified but definitely the same class as the street variety. I stalked over towards it, pulling a small transmitter out of my pack. A nifty piece of technology I had liberated from a pawnshop, it could be used on most simple remote-control security systems, including most vehicular systems. It cycled through different frequencies until I heard the target unlock, then I cautiously opened the trunk and peered in. It opened up into the back of the vehicle but would still be a good place to hide, and no one would suspect anything once I reactivated the security from the inside.

The medical building's side exit was a quick sprint away. I kneeled down and rummaged in my bag for my lock-picking tools. I used two to unlock the door, then stuck them in the band that held my hair back. Show time.

I stood up and glared at the door, trying to see what was on the other side. Then I wrenched it open.

Loud alarms blared and I took a long, intense look at what appeared to be . . . a lab? There were desks with computers and chemistry equipment.

I quickly closed the door and dashed for the transport, crawling in through the trunk and using the transmitter to activate the security again. Peaking through the tinted windows less than a minute later, I was only able to spot the guards running by their bobbing flashlight beams. First they congregated by door, then the alarm was shut off. One of the guards disappeared inside, while the other two split up and began searching the surrounding area. When one of them got near, I lay down in the trunk as the beam was directed into the vehicle for a short moment.

It took them about an hour before the three guards reconvened and agreed to abandon their search. I had filled the time, and prevented my focus from wandering dangerously, by whispering hypnotically to myself. Old recitations from a time when I still practiced speaking now fell perfectly from my lips, "Hello. My name is Kid… Please help me eat, I have no mother… Don't hurt me, I have been good…" And new words, "Call me Duo. Du-o, it means together… I love you Solo. I won' let Shi'gami take you."

When the guards were gone for a good hour, I crept out of the car and snuck back to the door. Again I picked the lock, but this time, when I flung open the door and the alarm sounded, I quickly scanned the room to identify a hiding place – no cameras; a bunch of desks offered partial coverage, particularly the one in the corner; a closet with no lock; a door.

Then I ran back to the vehicle again, and waited again as events repeated themselves; except this time, the guards stopped searching after a mere forty minutes. Still I waited another hour before I took my final trip to the door. I picked the lock and entered the building to the now familiar sound of the alarm. During my last stint in the vehicle, I had spent the time considering ad nauseum the various hiding places, and had decided to go with the corner desk because of the access it would give me. Another street rule: guard your exit.

Once again security came, but this time they conducted only a visual once over, though they stood around near the door for a few minutes. I was close enough to hear them complaining.

"This is ridiculous. I can't believe they won't just shut this section off!" a deep voice grumbled.

"This fucking glitch is gonna have us over here all night," a woman's voice whined.

When they left I stood up and turned my attention to the room around me. There were vials, Bunsen burners, and other equipment on the desks. Most of it was not in use, but some of it clearly was. I looked in the cabinets, which were full of chemicals, samples, and various tools. I turned my attention to a grungy refrigerator, but there was little of interest inside. It didn't help that I wasn't sure what the cure was supposed to look like. I couldn't read, so I was just hoping to recognize it when I saw it. It was an uncanny skill of mine, but here I was radically out of my element.

I soon gave up on that room, and left it to enter a hallway. I peeked into two operating rooms before I came to a much bigger, more impressive lab. I snuck in and saw that the walls were lined with sealed refrigerators, and through their plexi-glass doors I could see tiny lights casting a faint glow on row upon row of vials, of so many colors and consistencies that surely one of them was the cure I needed. Even in my apathetic state, a dull horror gripped me as I realized that I was going to fail. I was going to fail because I had not learned to read, and this wounded the monster in me as much as the human.

Close to panic, all I could do was curse myself for being so fucking _stupid_ as to allow this to happen. I growled at myself angrily. How was I going to figure out which one was the one I needed? Not to mention the fact that there were bulky, obvious identity locks on each refrigerator.

I was so distraught with myself that I completely failed to hear the door whisper open behind me, but then I heard sharply the unmistakable sound of a handgun being cocked. A voice sneered, "Think you're smart, don't you asshole?"

I spun around, my hand diving to my bag, but he barked, "Keep your hands where I can see them!"

My fingers twitched, but one look at my captor told me what a costly mistake that would be. Tall and thin, the lieutenant sported a burn on the neck that disappeared under his uniform, suggesting some sort of experience, and he was glaring at me as though he held a very personal grudge. I took in these details, as well as his perfect stance and aim, and concluded that I was good and truly fucked.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, his tone dripped loathing.

I struggled to breathe, let alone speak, and it wasn't difficult at all to affect fear as I croaked as eloquently as I could, "I don't mean no harm, sir. I'm just tryin' to save my friends, they're kids. The Plague is killing us on the streets, sir."

The lieutenant sneered again as he taunted, "Is this the shit you're looking for? It's all we got against the Plague," and pointed at an entire refrigerator of yellow vials, labeled with prominent red labels. My mouth fell open slightly, and I couldn't take my eyes of them even as the man yelled that he knew I was a terrorist.

Frustrated by my lack of reaction, he raised his weapon higher so that it pointed directly between my eyes. "Put your hands behind your back and turn around," he barked.

I was barely holding my own leash, but I managed to follow his instructions right up until I felt the metal encircle my wrist. Then I was a flurry of sharp elbows and knees and angry fists, but he was ready for me and outweighed me by over a hundred pounds. I slammed to the ground, his knee digging painfully into my spine as he jerked my arms back and handcuffed them, then he ripped my ski mask off and slammed my face on the tile flooring –

Everything went black.

What proceeded was beyond my comprehension at that tender age. Up until then I had _suffered_, my entire life had been some form of pain – hunger, cold, injury, loneliness, fear . . . It had made me calloused and daring, but it could not have prepared me for my first experience with torture.

I awoke to a shower of ice cold water on my naked body, my hands still cuffed and blood caked to my face from where my forehead had busted open on the floor. I bolted up violently and stumbled to my feet, trying to take in my surroundings . . . I was stupefied at the time, though now it is obvious that I was in a quarantine cell. I barely had a moment to consider it before a bright light came on over the plexi-glass wall. I arm moved unconsciously to shade my eyes, and I squinted at the dark adult shapes behind the glass.

Just when I didn't think it could get any more ominous, a rough, unfamiliar voice came through the speaker, "What's your purpose here, terrorist?"

"I'm n-not a terrorist," I stuttered, cursing me weakness. I was going to need everything I had to get out of this alive, and that included my meager human skills.

"Don't try to lie, or this is going to get ugly," the speaker threatened harshly, and the sound of the decompressing drew my attention to the door. The lieutenant bared his teeth at me, a cattle prod gripped in his hand and a gun on his belt.

I spilled everything my weak grasp of the English language would permit, but somehow I couldn't manage anything but the truth – I was just a street kid, trying to save my dying best friend. It only a took a minute or so of my fumbling ramble for them to grow impatient, and the speaker blurted, "Enough!"

The lieutenant strode right to me, and I tried to get away, but there was nowhere to go and he shocked me his cattle prod. I screamed in an agony I had never imagined before and I collapsed to the ground, then he kicked at my arms and legs where they protected my head. My limbs trembled weakly from the shock and I could barely register anything beyond my body.

"Tell us who you work with!" the speaker demanded.

I hesitated for only a second and I was tasered again, this time with a stronger current that caused my spine to spasm and every muscle to clench agonizingly. It was followed by a third shock that had my body convulsing freakishly, then I was left panting and disoriented.

"Where are they hiding out?" the speaker demanded from out of a psychedelic fog.

I launched into a babble immediately, some outrageous lie, _anything_, but my desperation must've been obvious because then I was shocked again. I cried out piteously, but I was already withdrawing from reality. I heard the lieutenant yelling at me, I think he grabbed me and shook me, but my legs were too unstable to support my weight, so I fell when he let go of me. Unconsciousness was a maudlin relief.

They left me there for a very long time. I eventually woke up, who knows how later, aching and still on the floor. No one appeared to be watching, so I stiffly searched the room, guzzled water from the sink and donned a medical gown. It was something, but I was hungry and there was no sign of anything remotely edible in the cell. Two days passed, I know because the quarantine room had a small window that betrayed the fact I was on the second floor of the medical complex.

When the Alliance guard came back, I was interrogated again. They beat me when I told the truth, and they shocked me when I lied; they tortured me when I was silent, and then again when I screamed. I was weak from not eating, didn't even try to hold back the sobs when he hung my cuffs to a wall. Then he began making small knife incisions along my vertebrae.

I thrashed helplessly when I felt his tongue hiss in my ear, "What about a knife right here? Do you think you could live as a cripple? Your smart mouth won't be enough to save you then."

He stabbed me fiercely then, in my lower back, and I screamed in terror, certain that he had paralyzed me, and pissed myself. He threw me away from him then, disgusted, and he left me to bleed to death. I could barely think, but still I stayed awake as I grew weaker and colder, and the only reaction I could muster was a profound regret that I was going to die without being able to save Solo. I struggled to make my peace with death then, but in the dark I could feel the hypnotic power of Shinigami's thrall. And he was not a god of peace.

After a long time, a woman doctor came in and moved my limp body to the gurney. She began to clean me, and dress my wounds gently, but I passed out without managing a coherent sentence to her.

I woke maybe a day or two later, incapacitated more by hunger than the wounds that covered my back. A quick inventory of my surroundings revealed four hefty sandwiches in it. Starved beyond suspicion, I snarfed down two and had to prevent myself from eating the others and making myself sick. Even eaten at light speed, those had been _great_ sandwiches, really only comparable to leftovers stolen right out of richies' fridges!

They fed me a little better after that, but they also came back a few more times to question me, interspersed with limited recovery time. Nothing I could say would satisfy them, and after a couple weeks I think even the horrible lieutenant was tired of tormenting a nine year old child. Once, when I was wavering on the edge of awareness, I think I heard him and doctor arguing about what to do with me. The lieutenant wanted to kill me, but the doctor argued that I was just a child.

I spent the days in between mesmerized by my injuries, whispering in my distraction, "My name is Duo, because this Solo." They were the words I had practiced after Solo had given me my name, and I focused intensely on his memory to get me through, to keep me ready and in my survivalist trance. I dealt with each moment as it came; I stretched my joints, massaged my muscles, and tried to facilitate my recovery as best as I could. I considered every possible outcome, and tried to steel my mind for what was going to be necessary. When I finally made my move, I would need to strike quick and deadly. I swore my allegiance and soul to Shinigami repeatedly, that he may kill through my body when the time came. Shinigami possessed me my dreams, my pain, and that beast running just below the surface, waiting with me. We waited and watched with hawkish eyes for opportunity to present itself.

So I was ready when events conspired to my favor one late evening. My arm was in a cast and my face was still healing from a busting the previous session, but I had better body mobility than I had managed in a while. The doctor and the lieutenant entered together as they had before, but I was more coherent than usual and not half-delirious from the latest beat down. My calculating mind saw the situation for what it was, and I committed myself without a hesitation of further consideration…

They had grown lazy, finally, after two weeks of torturing me with barely any struggle, and the lieutenant approached me with no precaution. He stood threateningly over my gurney, and I crushed to urge to strike out, waiting until he carelessly turned away from me to respond to something the doctor had said. The lieutenant's gun was an easy target for a pickpocket, especially one without need to escape detection.

It felt like slow motion to me, but Shinigami was anything but slow as his hands darted forward to free the handgun from the man's holster, cocked it and shot him pointblank, right in between his eyes. The doctor screamed as blood and brainmatter splattered everywhere, showering me, and the body slumped to the ground. Then Shinigami leveled the gun at her and growled, "Shut up, or we'll kill you too."

She fell silent and stilled, but I never took my eyes off her as I slid from the gurney and grabbed the lieutenant's ID from his breast pocket. I didn't want to see his destroyed face anyway. The doctor's lip was trembling and I could tell that she felt betrayed, but now was not the time for sympathy. I stepped away from the body and ordered, "Take off his jacket."

She paused, but she did it, struggling to turn his body over and slide the dark green jacket off. I gestured her back, and then I turned the jacket inside out to hide both the blood and the fact that it was an Alliance uniform. I put it on and rolled up the sleeves, because it was still better than the light blue gown that it covered. Except for the fact that I didn't have any shoes, my attire was now sufficient to fit in with the rest of L2's scraggily street denizens.

I glared at the doctor then, and gestured with the gun towards the sealed door. "Get us outta here."

She was a couple heads taller than me, but it was nothing compared to the advantage gained by a weapon, so again she obeyed despite the telling hesitation. We left the quarantine cell, into a hallway, where the lights had been dimmed for the night.

"The stairs," I hissed, and she led me past several doors to one labeled stairs. We took them down to the first level, where I knew my destination precisely. I ordered the doctor into the lab and I think then that pieces began to fall into place in her mind, cuz she looked at me with an expression of disbelief. It made me want to smack her, but instead I pointed at the rows of yellow vials that had haunted my thoughts and dreams for weeks. "What do these do?" I demanded, gun still pointed at her.

"It's a vaccine against the _Ortholomyxa _retrovirus. What you keep calling the Plague." Hatred welled up in me at her words, that she _knew _people were dying and just didn't . . . what? Believe? Care? Shinigami's finger trembled on the trigger, and the doctor must have known because she shrunk away in fright.

But Shinigami had to live up to his end of the bargain too, so my finger froze on the trigger and I composed myself. "Get the fridge open."

"I don't have access," she tried to argue pathetically, but I knew she was lying, because she had been trying to work up the courage to stand up to me ever since I had first drawn the gun.

I called her bluff. "Fine then. Just put your eye up to the scanner-thingy, then swipe your card. If it don' like you, the guards'll come runnin' right quick."

Her visible resignation betrayed the truth and she followed my directions. The door slid open and I had to hold back the excited the relief swelled inside me; I was on an emotional roller coaster, but I was far from safe and couldn't afford to slip even a little. I gestured the doctor away from the refrigerator, eying the thin camisole she was wearing under her white lab coat.

"Gimme your sweater," I ordered, and she reluctantly sacrificed it so I could carefully wrap it around eight vials and use the sleeves to tie it around my thin waist – one vial for Solo, Marianna, Robin, Shaka, Mandela, and myself, the only survivors; plus two backups, because shit always happens. Then Shinigami turned our attention back to the doctor, and explained dangerously, "If you do exactly what I say, I'll let you live, cuz you've stood up for me one or twice. But if you don' listen, then I'll kill you in a second, just like Fuckhead upstairs. I need a hostage, and if you wanna live you better go along with it."

She looked faintly ill, but she nodded nonetheless. We used her identification to get us through the building security and out on the grounds, where I guided us towards the smaller back gate I had observed weeks before when I had scouted the outer walls. It was approaching midnight, so at least I would be covered by darkness.

We approached the cubicle silently, my bare feet slowly growing numb from cold. The guard didn't even look up from his skin mag until the doctor opened the door. I shoved her forward sharply, so that both her and the guard were in my sights.

"Open the gate!" I growled.

"No fucking way!" the guard snapped, clearly not intimidated by a nine-year old. His hand went for his gun and Shinigami shot him pointblank in the neck.

I managed to avoid most of the blood splatter this time, and I quickly reached over the body to flip the big lonely switch on the side of the desk. I could see the gate begin to open through the observation window, and I was out of that cubicle in a flash, leaving that bitch doctor and the Alliance torture lab behind. The sound of the gunshot would bring guards, but as soon as I was past the gate I knew I was too fast and agile for them. I heard two shots follow me, but in the dark they both went wide.

I ran all the way home, not even feeling when my feet began to ache and bleed. I burst into the abandoned building, shouting, "Solo!"

I was a little shocked to see how the hovel had fallen apart in a mere three weeks. I quickly stalked to our bedding, and was appalled to see how that Solo had wasted away to almost nothing. I had not thought concretely of his deterioration before, and I was afraid for a moment that I was already too late. I fought back tears as his eyes fluttered open.

Mandela threw himself at me and squeezed me tightly, wailing, "You're back, Duo, you're back. I was so scared . . ."

Shaka and Robin came up too and hugged me desperately, so that I knew how bad it had been while I had been gone. Through their arms, I could see Solo smiling at me with heartbreaking warmth and confidence. "I knew you'd be back."

"Where's Marianna?" I asked, though I knew the awful answer even as the words perished on my lips. My face darkened and Shaka sniffled.

Solo closed his sunken eyes and sighed. "Shinigami took her."

"A busy fucker, wasn't he?" I muttered bitterly.

"What?" Solo asked, looking at me with concern and taking in my appearance. "What happened to your arm? And your feet? You look terrible, Duo. . . "

"Nothing," I replied quickly, not at all ready to think about the people I had murdered, or the brutal torture I had undergone. Instead, I retrieved the vials from their makeshift pouch and brandished them before everyone. "I got the cure!"

Shaka gasped, and both Robin and Mandela shrieked. Everyone took one to look at as though it was their personal salvation, which it was; everyone except Solo, who frowned as he inspected the label on his. I was confused and hurt by the sadness on his face, though he still smiled and asked Robin to go get the med injector. Shaka, Robin, and I each took a turn, at Solo's insistence, but when I held the injector out to Solo, he just shook his head.

"What's wrong?" I pleaded, feeling exhausted and emotionally frail from my ordeal, holding myself together with sheer willpower and hope.

Duo reached out with a thin hand and caressed my face. "Duo, this is a vaccine."

I nodded, not quite understanding. It was a cure.

He tried again, "Duo, baby, you've done good. This will protect you and the rest from the disease . . . but it won't save me. A vaccine can only prevent, not cure."

My face twisted in anguish and it reflected the cannibalistic ache that throbbed through my soul. I had _FAILED_, completely and utterly, after all that I done and been subjected to. Solo pulled me to him then, and let me sob into his frail frame. Shinigami abandoned me in that room then, and I was left a human mess of tears and love and agony. I must've cried forever, I think I am still crying today…

Light had already begun to flood our domain when I was woken by Solo's labored breathing. I brushed his sweaty hair from his forehead and steadfastly ignored the smell of death that permeated the bedding. I held him carefully and devotedly until he stirred, and his eyelids fluttered open.

"Duo," he whispered hoarsely, and I could tell that he was having trouble focusing on me. I rested my cheek against his and whispered back, "I'm right here."

"You gotta take care of the other three," he said faintly.

I nodded, already feeling the hollow emptiness of loss. "Of course."

"I don't want to die," he sniffed, and I felt his tears on my cheek, so I just held him tighter. My face scrunched in misery, but my eyes were cried out.

"Don't- Don't forget me, Duo, please," he begged quietly, and it was heart-breaking to hear him so weak. Solo had never been weak, always a leader, always a peacemaker.

"Never," I vowed, trying hard to be strong for him. "You're everything to me, Solo."

He used the last of his reserves then to squeeze me back, and he whispered so softly I barely caught it, "I wouldn't let Shinigami take me 'til I saw you one last time. I'm ready now."

A shiver ran through me, but when it faded, I was left disturbingly numb. I felt Solo's emaciated body slacken and I knew then that I had lost him, so I gently laid him back down on the bedding. He was only thirteen when Shinigami took him.


	2. The Maxwell Church Orphanage

Gilly Wrist: Thank you for the great review, I eat it up! Praise, room for improvement, anything – I love it!

**Chapter Two: The Maxwell Church Orphanage **

"The beast in me is caged by frail and fragile bonds. Restless by day, and by night rants and rages at the stars." – Nick Lowe, The Beast in Me

There was no food in our hovel, so I appropriated shoes from the now deceased Lear, and took Mandela with me to rustle up grub. It was a small score, but we wouldn't need much – I'd already decided to leave as soon as we burned Solo's body. Shaka was my age, and Robin a little older, but I knew that they would do pretty much anything that I said. The previous month must have been horrible, because the surviving kids were completely cowed; they huddled together to watch as I prepared the body.

I operated in a trance, so that it only distantly hurt to see Solo so thin and frail. The pasty carcass didn't even look like the boy I had idolized for over three years now. I dressed him in this blanket he had converted into a poncho, an instant favorite due to its faded depiction of the solar system – with Solo's head overlying the sun, and therefore the center around which everything orbited.

I just used my hands to smooth back his hair because I knew that the disease made the follicles weak. When I was finished, I found suddenly that I really couldn't bear to look at the body anymore, so I quickly changed gears and turned to the three others. "Pack up anything you don' wanna lose, we leavin' tonight."

I knew they were upset, and that my orders had done nothing to reassure them, but I had nothing comforting or human to offer them. Instead, I mechanically went through the bedding and belongings of all the dead, though little of value remained. I scrounged up a backpack, a pair of well-fitting trousers, and a few street tools that tended to come in handy at strange times.

Then I pulled everyone's bedding into the middle of our dead home while Robin, Shaka, and Mandela watched as if I had lost it. Understanding was even more shocking when I lay Solo's body against the massive mound.

"Are you ready?" I asked finally.

They nodded stonily and I nodded too, mostly to myself, then turned to Solo. For a long moment, all words escaped me and I couldn't even remember how to speak. I took another few seconds to say a silent good-bye to Marianna, whose pyre I had missed, then tried to think about what I needed to say to Solo.

"I'm sorry, Solo. I-I tried so hard, but I failed anyway. You made me believe, Solo, made me believe we could make it out here, on the streets together. . . You gave me a family, but it was too good for this rotten place." I wouldn't have even known I had started crying if a tear hadn't traveled down my cheek and dropped onto my hand.

"So Shinigami takes you too, my bes' friend," I rasped, my voice breaking. "Only us ghosts are lef'."

Then I crouched down and lit the bedding on fire. Stepping back, I howled loud and mournfully, like the whole pack used to do at night sometimes, and within seconds I was joined by three other wolf cries merging into a desolate harmony. The fire blossomed quickly in the abandoned building, so I was soon hustling the others out of our home. We ran a good block down the street before we stopped to watch the building burn. The blaze had spread to three stories before we took our queue from the sirens to make a hasty getaway.

They followed me in silence for an hour before Mandela started pestering for an explanation why we were taking an unfamiliar route out of the barrio. Only then did I realize where I was taking them. I had hardly slept the night before, and I was still exhausted from my ordeal, but somehow my subconscious remembered something that had been driven from my mind by more pressing events –

The orphanage.

Robin and Shaka stopped walking when I said that, and then Robin's voice called me back, "You lie! There's no such thing! If there was, Solo woulda taken us there a long time ago."

I turned around and looked through her with my frozen expression. I would never know if Solo had been aware that orphanages did really exist. Robin only remembered the orphan fairytales he would spin, and assumed that Solo's rule about not trusting adults did not apply to parents and caretakers. She didn't realize how deeply and stubbornly suspicious Solo was about all adults, especially parents; she didn't know that until he died he continued to have nightmares about the father that had scared and scarred him. Even if Solo had known about the existence of an orphanage, it is no guarantee that he wouldn't have still opted to stay on the streets and die.

I tried hard to verbalize a rationale that was just now evolving. "I found it when I firs' ran off. I'm pretty sure it's an orphanage, it'll just be hard to convince them to take you scraggily lot."

Mandela picked up on my words immediately, and his expression was suddenly stricken. "What about you?" he whined.

I shook my head. The other three were as normal as could be expected of kids that had been living on the street for a couple years, but I neither looked nor acted in any developmentally appropriate way. My mouth and eyes were conspicuously large, my hair long and still a little tangled, and a survivor's lifetime of toil had given me more muscle than is normal for a nine-year old. To top it all off, as soon as I opened my mouth or even did anything conspicuous, I always betrayed the fact that I was a half-formed freak.

I shook my head, having to force myself to speak. "Nothing 'bout me. Maybe they'll take me too . . . if not, I can make it jus' as I always have."

Nobody had anything to say after that, and we trudged on through most of the night. Once again, when I entered the distant neighborhood, light was breaking, but this time I did not come alone. Shaka and Mandela each held one of my hands and Robin stuck near as we walked, slowly now, towards the uplifting sound of bells. Somewhere in the darkness, childish hope had stirred, so now they looked up at the church doors as if they were the doors of heaven itself.

I showed them the side residence, and soon they too could hear children, though did not howl as we had. I felt then that I had inherited Solo's fear of adults, and I knew that I wouldn't be able to talk to them without fucking things up big time. All I could think of was the soldiers I had killed, and that any grownup in their right mind would recognize me as a threat immediately. I breathed deeply, reigning in my growing paranoia, and managed to suggest steadily, "You look real cute, Robin, why don' you ring the doorbell?"

Robin blushed at my praise, and eagerly pushed the button. The booming chime was a bit of a surprise, but still I envied the other three: it was obvious in their faces that they had faith in these mythic adults that only inspired trepidation in me. Then it was time for action. The door cracked open, revealing an elderly woman dressed literally head-to-toe in black.

Robin smiled widely and tried to be charming the only way she knew how. "Hello, mum. We're sorry to bother you, but we were just passing by, couldn't help see this here orphanage. Maybe you have a meal for hungry children?"

The nun's mouth fell open and she opened the door wide, "Of course. Come in, come in."

Robin rushed in, followed by Shaka; I almost bolted then, but Mandela was still holding my hand, and he yanked me in with him. Then we were in what can only be described as a foyer. "My, my, where did you all come from?" the lady was saying.

Robin glanced at me for guidance, but I had disconnected myself from Mandela and had retreated instinctively towards the camouflage of coats that hung along the walls. Not really hiding, but definitely trying to avoid attention. This felt every bit as threatening as the Alliance complex had, and the memory of those events made me fear that I would do something dangerous and irrational. I was having a panic attack, I could sort of tell even without understanding, and I forced myself to focus so intently on my clenched hand that it became Shinigami's own claw. There was so much blood . . .

As if through a tunnel, I heard Robin try to answer the nun's question. "Solo died . . . and then our home burned down."

I suppressed my freak-out with such effort that my body trembled tensely, all so that I could watch the reaction on the adult's face. It was a telling moment, and she showed nothing but sadness and sympathy. "You poor darlings, you must stay here. We'll make room somehow, and get you fattened up."

Mandela and Shaka squealed and grabbed each other is delight. Robin actually giggled and hugged the kind stranger! I must have been holding my breath because air rushed into my tight lungs when I finally remembered to breathe, and for a moment I felt faint. The entire emotional experience was beginning to make me feel nauseous.

"I'm Sister Helen, and I run this orphanage with Father Maxwell," the woman was saying, sharing a welcoming smile that offered nothing but openness and trust – that surely disarmed every child it had ever shined on except me.

"What're all your names?"

"I'm Robin," the pretty girl said, clearly gaining ease with her new role as communicator. "That's Shaka and that's Mandela."

"Nice to meet you," Sister Helen said graciously, then looked pointedly in my direction, causing my blood to run cold and my eyes to widen like a deer in headlights. "And what's your name?"

I licked my lips nervously, and my fingers itched for the gun buried deep in my bag, but Mandela delayed any incident by blurting. "That's Duo. I won' stay if you don' take him too. He saved my life."

My mouth fell open a little, then Shaka added, "He saved my life too."

"Mine too," Robin admitted softly.

Sister Helen floated towards me as an angel would, and I felt like a little demon in her great sights. It was stupid, but I pushed back into the thick coats that hung along the atrium wall. She bent over so that her eyes could gaze intimately into mine, and she must have seen straight through my soul.

"Hello, Duo," she said softly, extending her hand into the little space that separated us. I gawped at it for a second, surprise pushing back the burgeoning nausea. I knew what the gesture meant, but no adult had ever offered to shake my hand before. I cautiously held out my fingers, and she took them gently, whispering, "There is nothing to be afraid of here, Duo. We can always use another life saver."

It was almost as if a stuck switch had finally been thrown; as if something had triggered my monster to fade to the background, and signaled my human persona to take point. The former was completely out of its depth, while the latter knew exactly what it wanted to do. So I nodded, because I really wanted to believe. I needed to become a better human if I was going to thrive in this human world, and I needed somewhere safe to be able to bury my animal while I did that.

Thankfully, Sister Helen gave me space after that, taking us all to a dinning room crowded with around twenty-five kids. She introduced us to the group, and I observed immediately that the other children were cleaner, better fed, and better dressed that any of us. I think Robin and Shaka were embarrassed, but it didn't mean mcuh to me, except that this setup apparently had the means and ability to take care of two-dozen orphans. Just perhaps, then, we were in capable hands.

We scrunched onto a bench and began to eat as whispers passed around us, while Sister Helen went to talk to a stern looking man who could only be Father Maxwell. After a short discussion, he stood up and strode towards us. Standing at the end of the table, he scrutinized each one of us thoroughly, and apparently came to some conclusions. Only then did I notice that none of us had used the provided utensils, and that we had made significantly more mess with out porridge than any of the other kids had. Now I was a little embarrassed too.

Father Maxwell stared straight at me and asked grimly, "Are you the leader of this rabble?"

Though not tall be adult standards, the priest still seemed to tower over me, and I forced myself to stay calm and nod. As uncomfortable as I was with this grownup attention, I wasn't going to lie to the people I was hoping would provide me with refuge. I was default leader now.

Though he addressed me, Father glanced at the other three to make sure he knew that this was aimed at them too, "Have you come to be part of this family until such time that you may find another? Have you come to live in harmony with the Lord, your elders, and your fellow children?"

We all nodded; indeed, at that point we probably would have nodded no matter what he had asked of us. It had taken the Sister and Father less than twenty minutes in all to make every last cynical one of us Maxwell children.

It blew my mind, a couple weeks later, when one of the orphans, Kali, was actually adopted. Sister Helen had to sit with me for almost an hour explaining the idea of people who wanted to take care of parentless children, and repeatedly assuring me that Kali would not only be safe but happier there.

"But why?" I asked for the hundredth time. "She's got you to take care of her, and we're all here."

"She wants parents. There're too many kids here, she wants people who can give her the love and attention she deserves. It's what most of the kids here want."

I was rather horrified at the idea of living somewhere with only the threatening presence of adults, and it must have shown on my face because Sister Helen's face grew sad then. "There are a lot of good people out there, Duo. Maybe even parents for you."

I was stricken and fell to my knees, grabbing the Sister's hands in desperation. "Don't send me away, I'll do anything you want."

I had become attached very quickly, almost uncharacteristically, but the Sister and Father just inspired that sort of loyalty from all the orphans. It was nice to be normal in that respect.

She gathered me in her arms then, and sat me back on my chair, calming me be murmuring, "Don't be ridiculous, you don't have to go anywhere you don't want."

As it turned out, she had to have a lot of these little talks with me over my first difficult months of adjusting, as did Father Maxwell. Like the time I refused to let Sister Helen cut my hair, then screamed hysterical nonsense about Solo and needing a name. Even after several 'discussions', she and Father decided that I was so irrational on the matter that I would be allowed to keep the hair – provided I kept it clean and in a braid.

I thought I was good at surviving, but nothing had ever seemed so truly impossible as adapting to Maxwell Church's daily routine. I had been raised on snatched meals and frequent but sporadic adrenaline rushes, I was used to thinking fast and moving faster. I had absolutely no patience for mass or academic studies and no regard for rules. I was literally bouncing off the walls by lunch every day, and then turned into an unholy terror by afternoon.

I couldn't help myself. I had never sat still for so long in my entire life, let alone have to listen to someone drone on and on, and these were difficult skills to learn at the ripe age of ten. I tried to listen, but my attention wondered in a matter of moments, then I was shuffling my feet, twitching in my seat, tapping my finger, awkwardly handling the pencil, clearing my throat, looking out the window –

"Duo!" Sister Helen would reprimand, disappointment in her voice, and I would be ashamed, but still I couldn't help myself. With three solid meals a day and a good night's sleep, my body thrummed with energy and my mind was on edge, ready for the adrenaline that usually laced my day. I felt like I was going through withdrawal, I wasn't learning anything, and I was making a fool of myself in front of the other kids. What was _with_ them? Did they all just have that sit-and-listen gene?

Come lunch, I almost exploded. I was fidgeting and jittering so bad that nobody would sit near me except for the old crowd. I hated that they felt sorry for me for not being able to fit in, but on the other hand, I couldn't stop myself from getting up and sitting back down a dozen times throughout the lunch period, nor could I restrain from obsessively sneaking food into my pockets, sleeves, socks, or anywhere else. During those early weeks and months, Solo's surviving wolves did what they could to help with or hide my difficulties. Indeed, without Solo, and with memories of torture haunting my skin, I found myself desperate for even the slightest human contact, so I let Mandela hold my hand, and I gratefully accepted hugs from Shaka and Robin.

During the first few weeks, I was asked to leave most afternoon classes because I almost inevitably became a disruption with my movements and sometimes outbursts. Father Maxwell would come find me later and talk to me about it, and I was always ashamed, and always promised to try harder the next day. Inexplicably, his disappointment in me felt worse that even Solo's had, and I resorted to desperate measures to be able to sit through his class.

I started pinching the shit out of myself. Each session was two and half-hours long, which was plenty of time to raise welts on my arms and thighs, the pain finally letting me focus on what was being taught. After a couple days of that, Father Maxwell complemented me, and I was elated to have found something that worked; but after a couple more days, he took me aside after mass. Mass was even more unbearably boring and incomprehensible than class, and I had grown rather vigorous in my pinching.

"Show me your arm, Duo," he requested in his usual stern manner. He somehow managed to seem caring anyhow.

"I-I don't wanna," I said, probably sounding as childish to him as I did to myself, especially with my nervous habit of tugging on my braid.

"Why not?" Father asked, frowning.

I shrugged, not particularly sure why. Solo had never liked it when I had occasionally hurt myself on purpose, and I must've thought that Father Maxwell would disapprove of my trick too. I settled for, "It looks all gross now, you don't wanna see it."

"Quite the contrary, now I want to see it all the more," Father replied, his voice leaving no room for opposition. I timidly held out my arm, feeling a little guilty for almost relishing the though of him touching my skin. Though the other three survivors gave what tokens of affection they could, I hadn't felt so alone years, since before Solo had changed my life.

He cradled my hand carefully, and pulled up my sleeve to reveal the over two-dozen welts and bruises in various phases of healing. His fingers caressed the skin on my forearm, and then I quickly drew my arm away from the rush of pleasure that had been evoked by even such a simple gesture. I wondered then if maybe Sister Helen was right, that maybe like every other kid I was craving adult attention and affection.

Father Maxwell studied me worriedly, and I was suddenly embarrassed by the realization that I wanted him to like me, even if he was a scary grownup. "I saw you doing this to yourself in class too. What's going on?"

I turned bright, embarrassed by my apparent disability, but I needed to redeem myself in his eyes with my explanation, "It's just a little trick, Father, cuz I can't sit still like you want. When I feel my mind drifting, I just pinch and it's like bam! I can pay attention again. This way I can get through your classes! And even mass, just like the other kids!"

But my excitement wasn't translating to Father Maxwell, and he gave me such a look that I knew then that he had realized it too – there was something really wrong with me. Perhaps he had secretly thought that I simply wasn't trying very hard, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that this was not the case.

Worse still than my academic and social difficulties was the fact that I woke almost every night to disorienting nightmares of illegibly labeled vials. My two victim-ghosts would taunt me for being such a stupid animal, and then I turned into Shinigami, full with claws and blood, and ri[[ed off their heads, and Solo's head, and Marianna's, and Puppy's, and everyone else's.

I was good at hiding the nightmares though, so I hadn't thought that anyone knew until I overheard Sister Helen describing to Father how I woke almost every night and sat by the window for long, silent hours. She said something I didn't recognize then, but that would come up again at several points in my subsequent life: post traumatic stress.

I didn't know what it was, but I was a little relieved that they even knew what was wrong with me; and eventually, through a lot of trial and error, they figured out how to get me to work right. Sister Helen gave me assignments to keep me occupied during the morning classes, then, during the lunch hour, I ran five miles through the neighborhood with enough time left over to eat a little. Eating less and exercising more helped my sit through the afternoon classes without using my pain technique, but I still had to be supplied with extra assignments to keep me occupied.

Then after that class, I would go with the other kids to the homemade playground in the church's backyard, though I was frequently too wound up to really participate in any of the games. Instead, I occupied myself scaling the jungle gym, the swing poles, even the brick side of the building; and I dashed around with Mandela like madmen, trying to accomplish this thing they called "playing".

The first time I really tried to "play pretend", I accidentally fucked myself up. I remember closing my eyes, concentrating hard to imagine what it was like to be someone else. If I could be anyone, I would be Solo, except Solo died, Shinigami took him. But I sometimes pretended to be Shinigami, right?

Abruptly, I was back on the gurney, the lieutenant's back towards me. I grabbed his gun, cocked, and again blasted him away, blood and brain splattering my face and gown.

"I am Shinigami, and I kill without mercy!" I screamed desperately, as if releasing those words had finally broken the spell. I was trembling, even paler than normal, and the entire schoolyard was looking at me with concern. The kids I was supposed to be playing with looked terrified. .

I had practically short-circuited right in front of everyone, so I retreated to hiding under the stairs for the rest of the evening, holding my head like everything would fall out if I dared let go.

Usually, though, after playtime I received tutoring help from Father Maxwell and Yuri (a quiet boy a couple years older than me) while the other kids did some fun activity with Sister Helen. While it was the only group pursuit that I could regularly participate in, I didn't really mind missing it because I knew that it was the only time Father Maxwell had free to teach me. I cherished those sessions close to my heart. because it was a desperate relief to discover that I really could learn to read, write, and do arithmetic; and because it was Father Maxwell.

Finally, after dinner, I would do homework, and then additional work, late into the night, until exhaustion finally drove me to bed. If I was tired enough, I didn't dream about Solo or Shinigami or torture, I didn't dream at all.

Change felt snail-paced at the time, but in retrospect, I must've transformed somewhat miraculously. I was a fucked-up, crazy, manic, unpredictable bat, but with the help of Father and Sister, I was able to channel it all into endless hours of study, punctuated regularly by small meals and intense exercise. Finally, in the right environment, my mind was a sponge, and I made academic strides that were never fast enough for me but that ultimately astounded even the hard-to-impress Father Maxwell.

Still, both my increasingly beloved guardians continued to worry about me. The other kids finally began to accept me, and (under Sister Helen's direction) I even developed a certain unique charm. Most of the kids sorta liked me, I think, but I was hard to be around because I was constantly moving and changing subjects and trying to find something to _do_. In some ways, I grew more alone as Robin and Shaka took my blossoming acceptance as the okay to truly go native, though Mandela still stuck by side as much as he could. We usually ate together, sometimes skittered around the playground together, and often did homework together. It was so different, and yet I could feel a familiar comfort, reminiscent of working the street with Mandela at my side – back before times had gotten really hard, when a good hustle was all we needed to feed the troupe. It melted a little of the pain, to think that Solo's sad gang lived on, even if only as a shadow of its former self.

After about six months at the orphanage, a dark-skinned couple came in looking to adopt a child. This happened occasionally, and Sister Helen would introduce a few of the kids, depending on what the prospective parents were looking for, and from time to time they would decide to adopt. It was obvious that this couple wanted a child that looked somewhat like them, because Sister Helen called over the handful of darker children – including Mandela.

I didn't usually watch these interactions like the other kids, who all desperately wished to have their shot at a real family, but this time apprehension had my face pressed to the window, trying to see what was going on in the chapel. It was hard to hear anything, especially with a dozen other kids hovering around, but even based on the visual, I could tell that the couple took a shining to Mandela.

They had every reason to like him, Mandela was a good kid – healthy, friendly, easy to please, and surprisingly normal for what he had gone through in his short life. All he talked about for days after was how much he had liked them, how much he hoped that they decided to take him. It hurt to hear him want to leave so much, but I struggled to be supportive of a dream that everyone seemed to hold but me. None of the adults ever wanted to meet me, and who could blame them?

Still, it was hard to say good-bye when the couple came back for him a week later. I retreated to my bed as soon as I saw them, hoping to avoid the entire scene; but that was stupid of course, because Mandela and his parents had to come retrieve his meager belongings from the dormitory. I couldn't be happy for him, so I just turned away.

"Duo!" he cried and rushed to throw himself on me.

I hugged him then and choked on my own voice, "D-don't forget Solo."

"I won't go without you!" Mandela cried then, tears coming to his eyes, and he jerked away to turn to his new parents. "Please, take Duo too! I remember my mother, but he's never had anyone!"

The words made me feel embarrassed, but I imagine that the couple felt even worse. The wife just looked uncomfortable, but the husband was downright horrified at the prospect of me. It was actually kind of amusing, once I stamped down on the pain.

I wasn't going to make an issue of it really, but I wanted my pound of flesh from them, for stealing my only real friend. I smirked fiendishly for a moment before letting absolute shit tumble from my big mouth, "Yeah, I'm real addition a family. A little white maybe, but I can earn my keep by robbing the neighbors blind. I'm a professional rat, straight from the hungry streets. I blew two men away, you know? I'm the best kid ever, see? 'Cause I'd _kill_ anyone who threatened my family."

Between my Cheshire grin and my harsh words, everyone except Mandela was appalled and stupefied, including Sister Helen who had apparently been in the doorway. I tensed up, suddenly realizing what I just said. I hadn't meant to confess! Had . . . ? Had Shinigami used my performance to break through for a moment and speak?

My breathing rate increased and I could feel a panic attack coming on, familiar now that they were a semi-regular occurrence. I wasn't smiling anymore suddenly, and Sister Helen must've recognized the signs because she was trying to shepherd me out of the dormitory.

"Wait," I mumbled, darting around the Sister to see Mandela. He was watching me as tears openly ran down his face. I wanted to do this right, I didn't want his last memory of me to be of the monster. I bit down on the inside of my cheek so hard that it bled, and I could feel the panic recede for the moment. I made a concerted effort to pretend that there was no one in the room except us two, and that helped me do something I had never done before – give up someone not to Shinigami, but to life.

I took his face in my hands and kissed each wet cheek. "Good luck, good life, may Shinigami never find you."

He smiled a little at that. "You too." Then he hugged me and proved how well he knew me by saying just what I wanted him to, "I'll always remember Solo, and you. And all the wolf pack, as it was in the beginning."

I nodded against him, then quickly pulled away and hurried out of the dormitory. I heard Sister Helen call after me, but I was too upset and had too much negative energy. I had to _do _something. All I could think was to go to the playground, though I had done most of the conceivable challenges there; it didn't matter, I was beyond reasonable. I simply picked the highest point I could see – the church steeple – and made it my goal.

I wasn't trying to act out, but it was the only outlet for this desperate energy driving me, short of letting Shinigami out to play. I climbed furiously and obliviously, even when I heard the shouts of a couple orphans who had spotted me. It was a lot harder and slower without the equipment that I had sported when I was on the street, but the crumbling brick offered many finger- and toeholds. By the time I heard Father Maxwell's bellowed reprimand, I was reaching for the drainpipe that ran the length of the church roof.

I heard my name being yelled, but it didn't stop me from hauling myself up onto the shingles. I scrambled up to the roof peak, then stopped short of the bell tower. My current elevation was entirely sufficient to watch Mandela walk out of my life. I stood up, ignoring the screams of fear coming from the playground below, and let a haunting howl escape my lungs and carry into the artificial morning. On the other side of the church was the street, where Mandela and his new parents stopped to gaze up at me. He waved at me wildly, and then leaned back to release his own resounding lupine wail, before finally he was dragged off to his new life, complete with lodgings and a starter family.

I sat up there for hours, until my panic and anguish faded, and long after the artificial day ended and the onlookers had retired. Only when my body grew painfully cold and stiff did I finally came down, Sister Helen gently took me to bed, where I slept like the dead.

The next day I was punished with dishwashing duty for a week, but worse was the conversation I had to have with Sister Helen about what I had said the day before. I started from my usual position regarding me, my feelings, or my past, "I don't want to talk about it."

"You said some pretty frightening things yesterday," Sister Helen soothed in her blessedly manipulative way, taking my hand in hers. "Was it the truth?

Under her gaze, it was impossible to lie, so I nodded shamefully. Leaning closer, she tilted my chin up so she could use her hypnotic eye powers on me. "That must have been horrible for you. It sounds like you're still hurting."

Her empathy rays were so intense that tears welled in my eyes that I refused to shed. With her finger under my chin, all I could say was, "Yes, Sister."

"You can't heal if you keep your pain inside you, Duo," came the first blow in the fatal combo. "You must let it free if you ever want to free from it."

And just like that, it was set free. I sobbed like a baby and confessed to all the sordid details of my past, like some abused creature blindly searching for this foretold 'freedom from pain'. As I cried on her knees, Sister Helen whispered comforts and stroked my hair, and after a long while, it really did seem to hurt a little less.

So I did dishwashing detail, grueling through one lonesome day after another, and on the completion of my last shift, I went to Father Maxwell. His office door was open, as always, but I knocked anyway.

"Ah, Duo! Come in."

I entered cautiously, grinning sheepishly. "I finished cleaning the dishes, Father."

The man nodded at me, saying sternly for the zillionth time, "I hope we won't have any more incidents like that last one."

Flushing, I mumbled, "No, Father."

When he didn't say anything further, I dared to continue, "I am hoping you'll to let me do something else for . . . my problem."

Despite the simplistic euphemism, my vocabulary and diction were certainly improving under his tutelage, and it showed in his consideration of my words. "What are you thinking of?"

"I'd like to run in the mornings too, before breakfast. I wake up really early, and I hate lying there in bed for hours. It makes me restless before the day even starts." I tried to sound as reasonable and nonchalant as possible, but I could tell from Father's expression that he was disappointed by my request. It was, after all, evidence that I was growing more solitary and eccentric since arriving the Maxwell orphanage. I certainly appeared to fit in better, but not so well that my guardians were deceived; and I had no real friends. Even Robin and Shaka had become casual acquaintances.

"Duo, Sister and I are worried about you." This is how Father Maxwell started most of our 'little chats'. "It is not healthy to be alone so much. Nor do I think a boy your age should be exercising so fastidiously." He voiced these complaints frequently too, and I had no new excuses, so I just stood silently until he tried again, this time beginning with a sigh, "Duo, there are twenty-six children here. Are you honestly saying that you have no interest in joining them in any of their pastimes?"

I pouted a little at that. I had genuinely tried, repeatedly, to foster an interest what the other kids did with their free time, but it was always: 1. Something truly lame and pointless (like digging up worms that they didn't plan to eat). 2. Something that was mentally and emotionally taxing for me (like that infernal game 'pretend'). Or 3. Something that was based on athletic competition (like tag), in which case no one wanted me to play because I was unquestionably the most physically agile. Still, I wasn't going to have that little pity party again, so instead I pointed out the most superficial flaw in Father Maxwell's suggestion, "No one's awake at four, even if I wanted to."

After that, Father frowned thoughtfully for so long that I began to feel guilty for asking for anything at all. I was surely the most difficult child he had ever had the misfortune to know, yet both he and Sister Helen went out of their way to help me adapt to a more 'normal' lifestyle. Finally, the silence was enough to make me uncomfortable, so I backed out of the office, saying, "You know, Father, it doesn't matter, it was just a silly idea."

"Wait, I think I have an idea." I stopped my retreat and nodded to convey that I was listening. "If you can wait until five, I can think of both someone who is awake, and something you can do during that time."

Now _that_ made me nervous. Who'd it be? Derek, Torrah, and Zoo were closest to me in age, but Derek's favorite activity was being an asshole and Torrah talked incessantly of nothing but boys and parents and what-ifs. Zoo already took meals with me and even sat next to me in class sometimes (I liked him somewhat, in part because he was kinda freaky too, in that he wore a black patch over his empty left eye socket), I didn't want to burden him or anyone else with my insomniac presence. No, I _wanted_ to be able to run and run until the blood pulsing through my body drowned out all thought and feeling. This whole being human thing was hard as fuck.

"I doubt they'd want to take me on," I muttered, hoping the Father would take a hint, but he didn't even miss a beat.

"Nonsense. Sister Helen has been complaining for years about how there is never anyone to help her prepare meals in the morning. I have no doubt that she will appreciate the fact that you _volunteered_."

My eyebrows shot up in surprise, and a wide grin split my face in pleasure and excitement. Sister Helen, with her infinite patience and gentleness, was a pleasure to be around (when she wasn't teaching a class at least), and she had a pretty good grasp of what tasks I needed to be given in order to keep busy.

"I take it you like the idea?" Father Maxwell asked with amusement. "Do you think you can stay in your bed until five?"

I nodded quickly, still smiling like a fool. "No problem."

With a knowing wave, Father Maxwell dismissed me, then called after only half-jokingly, "And no pinching!"

"Yes, sir!" I practically shouted, skipping off to relish in my excitement. I had mostly abandoned that particular coping mechanism.

The next morning I started preparing breakfast and even making lunch in advance, appreciating every minute of time with Sister Helen. With all the extra attention she and Father reaped on me to allow me to thrive, it is easy to see, in retrospect, that I had needed parents and that I had found some, after a fashion. They must have felt the same way, at least a little, or they wouldn't have put so much effort into me – surely more than the other kids seemed to require. Sister Helen in particular seemed hell-bent on saving my soul, and our morning sessions became another forum to good-naturedly try to convince me of God's glory.

Her favorite argument was always, "Duo, of course God exists. I see how wonderful you are I know only God could have created such a child and protected him."

I never said what I really wanted to, that no god had ever protected me except Shinigami, and I paid dearly it. I usually just settled for a sarcastic, "Yeah, cuz I'm so wonderful." Then something along the lines of, "You remember that, Sister, next time I turn the doorbell into a fire alarm." (It was just that once, as an experiment!)

One morning while mixing the porridge, Sister Helen handed me a small box with a small gold trim bow on it.

"What's this for?" I asked, excited but confused. The only other time I had ever received a proper gift was this last Christmas, when every child had received a present donated from charity, and a sweatshirt that Sister Helen had embroidered with our respective names. I had cared little for the strange the action figure, and promptly traded it away; but I had loved the shirt.

"Just because you don't know your date of birth doesn't mean your birthday shouldn't be celebrated," Sister Helen said with a gentle smile. I felt such love then, that it was a relief to know I was still capable of feeling as good as I once had with Solo. I had feared that I was permanently damaged, beyond even my initial misconstruction.

I opened the box, and there lay a gold cross and chain. Then I did that stupid thing where my grin eats my face and I tried to force it back down. Sister Helen took the chain from the box and scolded lovingly, "Don't do that, Duo. Don't let anyone stop you from smiling."

Well, I really looked like a maniac after that, and then when she put the chain over my neck, I couldn't restrain myself – I leaned forward and hugged her. I had done it before, but only when distraught, and it felt so much better when I wasn't. It felt like curling up with Solo after a good meal. It felt like having a home.

And it was a good thing too, for within my second year at the orphanage, over a half of the original kids had been adopted or found by family, and all the empty bunks went to new children. Robin was adopted, then Yuri, and Torrah, and a bunch of other kids that had tolerated me. I was managing to blend in a little better with the new kids. I was still fidgety and loud-mouthed, but I kept my death-defying acrobatics strictly on the down low.

Oddly enough, the key to my growing ability to cope with my slow-paced existence stemmed from the whole 'pretending' thing. I avoided it for a long time, shying away from the flashback it had triggered, but it was my very fear that made me realize its power. Occasionally, I would watch the other kids playing house or warriors or doctor, but I was afraid to imagine myself as anyone else because Shinigami had sole claim to that role. Never one to give up, I eventually figured out how to approximate 'pretending'; after all, it was similar to running certain scams. So I viewed the various scenarios as social exercises, and I used the opportunity to consider and plan how I would respond in the real world. I doubt I was much fun, but at least the other kids didn't try to exclude me anymore. The technique translated well to other activities and interactions, so that I frequently found myself multitasking, following directions and carrying on an inner monologue with myself. An endless stream of sarcastic speculation was apparently all I required to survive long dreary lectures that would have had me jumping out of my seat less than a year ago.

Still, at about eleven I was one of the older kids at the orphanage, and the newer kids looked up to me because I worked hard, and it paid off. Hours staring at books and working through problems yielded rapid academic progress, and I began channeling some of my energy into tutoring the younger kids. I learned how to clean and sow and cook (with meager supplies of course), and was allowed to use some of my street skills to fix up the residence and church. I think Father Maxwell initially granted this request as an indulgence, and he was impressed when he discovered that I was actually making myself useful. I repaired drawers and doors, walls and windows, even plumbing and wiring problems on occasion.

It felt good to gain the respect of my guardians and the other orphans, and it helped develop some confidence in my humanity. I was still strange, working, studying, and exercising almost compulsively, but fitting in soothed a primal fear that I had not even recognized until it was escaped – the fear of standing out, of being the target, the scapegoat, the prey... So I had learned to camouflage in this new world, just as I had in the old, and both talents were to serve me well in the years to follow.

In the little free time I had, I palled around with Zoo and, occasionally, a couple of the younger kids who thought we were cool. I even managed to be a halfway decent friend towards the end there. Zoo, like me, was never going to be adopted, and I felt some safety in that.

I remember one night in particular, he and I had snuck down to the kitchen for a midnight snack. As we sat there munching on some slightly stale bread that we didn't think Sister would much miss, Zoo said with a full mouth, "Duo, there's somethin' I've always wanted to ask you, but I'm afraid you'll freak out . . . like you used to."

I blushed, pulling at my braid nervously. "It's okay now," I professed, if by okay I meant monthly nightmares of being tortured and Shinigami taking Solo. At least the panic attacks had almost disappeared. I tried to pull a straight face, even managing a self-deprecating grin of reassurance.

Zoo didn't look convinced, but he was obviously itching to get something off his chest. "What's... it like living on the street?"

I was actually relieved at his seemingly harmless question, and I shrugged. "It's hard. You gotta bust ass to get enough to eat, and you gotta squat some place with no heat or water or electricity. You're always watching your back, cuz danger's _everywhere_."

There was a thoughtful silence while we both chewed, then he finally responded, "My half-brother's out there on the streets somewhere, in the next barrio over. He's just three years older than me, but I only see him rarely when he comes to visit... Sometimes I think I should go stay with him."

I frowned, not liking the direction of this conversation at all. "No way! You're nuts if you leave this bed-and-breakfast to hit the streets. It's like hell out there, people keeling over left and right! You'll have to turn into an animal just to survive!"

"Shhh!" Zoo hushed, realizing that he had upset me.

But I wanted him to _understand_, so I moved off the table to sit on the bench next to him and I looked him straight in the eyes. "Really, Zoo, it's a terrible idea. It's a war zone out there, and your brother's probably in a gang, doing something stupid and dangerous."

The silence that followed was so long that I began to think he wouldn't say any more; but finally he confided quietly, "For a long time, I hoped to be adopted, but every year I just get older and it gets less and less likely that anyone will want me."

I felt sorry for him; he had been at the orphanage longer than me, and had been passed over just as many times, probably because of the patch he wore empty left eye socket. He had asked a personal question, so I dared one of my own, "What . . . happened to your eye?"

Zoo turned away from me a little and gazed down at his hands. After a deep breath, he revealed, "I had an eye infection as a baby, because my mother had the clap or something I think, and she didn't treat it. My brother said it got real nasty and the doctors had to remove it... Then she died of the Plague, and I was dumped here."

I had low expectations of parents, accompanied by a clinging paranoia towards them, but still I managed a sincere, "I'm sorry."

He looked a little uncomfortable at the subject matter, but he tried to volley a question back. "D-did your parents die too?"

I shrugged, trying to cover my own pain with levity. "Who knows? All I can remember is the streets, running around like a little wolf. Ha! Probably more like a giant hairless rat back then."

Zoo smiled a little at that, and then we helped our emotionally fragile selves to bed. It felt good to have a friend that I could really talk to. Father Maxwell and Sister Helen were great, but some things I could only ever tell another kid. He reminded me a little of Mandela, though he much less likely to take my advice on anything, and he challenged me to try to be a good friend.

However, by the time my third year at the orphanage rolled around, I was maybe twelve and the second oldest kid in the orphanage, and the only one who had there for so long. Derek was claimed by an uncle, and Torrah and Shaka were adopted, but the real blow came when Zoo ran off to join one of the gangs of adolescent boys that terrorized the streets. It was through him that I was so unfortunate as to meet the Young Avengers.

They were a wannabe terrorist organization, but too small-time and petty to be more than a gang with a grudge; they were really just boys that talked big because they had guns. I first met them about a week after Zoo had slipped away. He had simply disappeared one night, leaving a short note explaining that he was tired of waiting for parents that might never come. He felt ready to take his future in his own hands, so he didn't heed my warnings when I described all the ways the streets could destroy you.

Still, I didn't expect to see him a week later when I left the residence to go running over the lunch hour. He was waiting for me a couple blocks from the church, and I approached him even though I could tell that there were two older boys just around the corner watching him – he hadn't found his brother, but someone had clearly found him.

"Hey, Zoo. How's it going on the outside?" I ventured. The kid looked okay, tense but not noticeably anxious.

Zoo nodded, cool-like. "Pretty wild. A lot more exciting than church lockdown. It's great to be doing important stuff."

My internal processes suddenly split, and an internal conflict presented itself; for my own safety I wanted to remain secluded in the orphanage and have nothing to do with the street, but I also recognized that Sister Helen and Father Maxwell could only protect me for so long. Resources were scarce at Maxwell Orphanage, but the children there had been relatively sheltered from the maelstrom that ravaged L2 during these years. Starvation, poverty, disease, and war had decimated the population, with later estimates putting the death rate at twenty percent of the population. I could see it when I ran through the barrio, but only rarely would I stop to watch or interact.

Now though, I was presented with an opportunity that genuinely tickled my curiosity, and like the crazy cat that I was, I took the fishy bait. "Really? So what you doing back round this dump then?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest and smirking like a Cheshire.

"Well," Zoo dragged out, glancing towards the two older boys, who had moved noticeably closer. "I was telling the blokes here about some of the things you do around the orphanage . . . like when you fixed Father Maxwell's computer. And that time you fixed up that volie's car." (A volie is a volunteer.)

"Oh yeah?" Now that really did get my interest, my fingers always itched to get a hold of new mechanics. "What do you have in mind? I'm not leaving the orphanage or joining a gang or anything."

"I know, man, I got your back," Zoo replied, smiling and lightly punching me in the shoulder. "Tito here's uncle owns the garage two blocks from the church. Father and Sister adore you, you could get them to let you work there in the afternoons. You could fix our equipment at the garage and bring back some dinero."

It sounded like a good idea at the time, and that is the only excuse I have for making the single worst mistake of my young life: I agreed to get involved with the stupid fucking Young Avengers.

Zoo was right, it wasn't too hard to convince my guardians to start working a job, particularly after Tito's dubious Uncle Vlad came to introduce himself to Father Maxwell and assured him of my apprenticeship and safety. The Father and Sister Helen were visibly reluctant, but I think they knew that they had to give me my freedom or lose me. Over their years running the orphanage, a number of older kids had ran off to join the street gangs, but I knew better than to do something _that_ stupid.

At the garage, Vlad and a couple adults appeared to mostly work on cars, along with a handful of teens, while in a back room I futzed with all manner of ill-begotten goods. I should've made sure I had nothing to do with that, but my experiences on the streets had left me well acquainted and comfortable with hot items. It barely even registered to me as a serious point of concern, I was too impressed with all the new toys at my disposal.

I did a lot of work refitting cars so they were unrecognizable, and removing identification chips from every piece of machinery manufactured in the last couple decades. I broke down and built up computers, and sometimes even took a swing at programming them. It was all very exciting, and fun when Zoo would sometimes hang around the garage, showing off his new rags and talking smack. I was so caught up in what I was doing and learning that I didn't even realize that the Young Avengers were testing me.

I was caught quite off-guard one day, after a couple months working at the garage, Tito and one of this thug buddies came in hauling a large wooden crate.

"Yo, Duo," Tito called out. He lived with his uncle and came around the garage with some frequency, often with his hot girlfriend in tow.

"Hey guys," I returned curiously, watching them begin to unpack the crate, revealing what looked like dynamite even to a twelve-year-old. I knew suddenly that I had already gotten myself into something that wanted no part of. I covered my nervousness by asking flippantly, "What's with the old time explosives?"

Tito's mountainous buddy looked at me like I was vermin, then went back to unpacking. Tito answered by stepping close and towering over me, and I could not help but be intimidated, remembering the gang of teens that had kidnapped me years ago. He spoke smoothly, as if he had full confidence in my compliance. "We want you to wire the remote detonation."

I swallowed but didn't flinch. "What's the target?" I replied, raising an eyebrow. Like with dogs, the key to people was often to just not show fear.

Tito grinned menacingly, revealing a truly passionate hatred for something. "An Alliance installation. We're gonna make those motherfuckers suffer tonight for the attack on Nando's family."

"What happened?" I continued asking, though I had gotten a pretty good idea over the last few weeks of how the underground war had was escalating. Rioting and rebellion was now so prevalent on L2 that colonists were beginning to call it a civil war. This insanity was fueled in part by rumors of dissention on Earth – talk of Romefeller's secret dealings, and some shadow army called the Order of the Zodiac. These stories seemed pretty unbelievable to me, but tensions continued to build anyway.

"They raided his home, arrested his mother and sisters, and killed his brother and dog," Tito said it matter-of-factly, as though it was the sort of thing to happen everyday, but his clenched fists betrayed his rage, then his eyes too when he turned them to me. "Nando's like family to me, Duo. It's time for a little justice."

I didn't want to be, but I was moved. I'm sure the Alliance had reason for raiding Nando's home, but buried memories were rustling Shinigami awake, reminding me of his position on the matter: we hate the Alliance, because they let Solo die, because they let us all just die, and they tortured me until I cried and bled, threw up and pissed myself. My recent immersion into civilization, education, and religion suddenly seemed to have no ability to contain the sudden ignition of the anger that had lay dormant and festering for years.

I think the wrath on my face endeared me somewhat to Tito, cuz he clapped his hand down on my shoulder and said more amicably, "What do say, Duo? Payback's a bitch, no?"

I nodded fiercely then, and got to work. I had never handle more than tiny amounts of explosives, but the principles were the same despite scale. I kept it simple, so that there was no way the detonator wouldn't blow up something. Only as I finished up did I consider how disappointed Father Maxwell and Sister Helen would be in me, at all of this really. But it was too late now, I was being sucked in too fast.

I watched Tito and his buddy pack the wired explosives away again, then I wished them luck and went back to the orphanage in time to catch the end of dinner. That night I stayed up late hoping to avoid the nightmares that often came after something reminded me of my past. Fatigue eventually knocked me out, so that I could wake up a couple hours later covered in sweat, Zoo's name on my lips for once.

During those same hours, the Young Avengers were making a foolhardy attempt against the Earth Alliance installation out by the shuttle launches.

The next day was Sunday, so at least I didn't have to fidget through classes (which were held on Saturdays too), but Mass wasn't much better. Instead of running during lunch, I went to the garage. The gate was locked up, the garage closed this early, but that barely even slowed me down, and within moments I was pounding on the door to residence. I heard some commotion before door cracked open and a shotgun barrel poked through. "Who the fuck is it?" came Vlad's rough voice.

My instincts almost made me react drastically, but I held them by a tight reign and said clearly, "Duo."

Only then did Vlad get close enough to the door to look through the crack, then with a grunt he lowered his gun and slammed the door. I could hear him messing with the chains, then I was finally let in and led into a shabby living room where a TV was on at a low volume.

"There was some trouble last night, Tito's sleeping in his room," Vlad said with a gesture of his head, tossing his shotgun on the couch. He moved into the adjoined kitchen, then returned with a sandwich and a standard nutrition drink. "You can wake him up to give him lunch."

I took the plate and glass, and then nervously went to Tito's door. I sorta got along with Tito, and his uncle Vlad too, but I knew that both of them could be dangerous. I had certainly never before been in their living quarters. I knocked, just to make sure, then entered. Tito lay on his side, a thick bandage covering the raised shoulder and running across his back. I placed his meal on the table by his bed and looked at him for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to wake him. I tried to be cautious, but just saying his name sharply didn't seem to work, so I had to prod him on the hip because I didn't want to touch anywhere near his injuries.

Tito snorted then, and murmured, "Asha?" (His girlfriend's name.)

"It's Duo," I said loudly.

He rolled over at that, and sat up a little so I could see faint scraping along his jaw. "What're you doin' here?" he grumbled, looking all like a disturbed bear.

"I brought your lunch," I said softly, gesturing to the table. He peaked up at that and took several manly swigs of the drink – given its thick consistency, it was a pretty good indicator of Tito's health. So, when he started in on the sandwich, I dared to ask, "Is Zoo okay?"

"Zoo? What about me?" I didn't know what to say to that, but luckily he swallowed his mouthful and continued, "He wasn't even there. Did you think we take kids to battle?"

Tito himself couldn't have been older than seventeen, but I was glad that he felt that the meager age difference mattered, because I know now that it really does. "It's been done before, this is L2."

It's L2, the go to excuse for why everything was always so shitty.

Tito nodded, finishing off his sandwich. Curiosity more than wisdom drove me to inquire further, "How'd it go?"

"You're awfully nosy, shortie, especially for someone who doesn't want to get involved." He didn't sound threatening through, and I wanted to somehow let him know how I felt about what he was fighting for. I wouldn't get involved, I couldn't do that to Sister Helen and Father Maxwell, so all I could offer was, "I'll help as much as I can from the sidelines."

Tito's softened for a moment, so that he almost looked friendly, and I could picture the kid he had been just recently. "That's what I like to hear... To answer your question, it was what it was. We sustained a couple casualties, no one you know, and a few injuries. But we took out our target, scored supplies, and managed to get our own hits in too. So, success I guess."

Two casualties counted as success? I don't know what I expected, but his words neither relieved nor worried me, so I said the easiest thing, "Good."

Tito nodded absently while lowering himself back into the bed, then yawned noisily. "Run along then, I'm sure you got places to be."

So I ran along, and things returned to normal for a while, except that I spent most of my garage time working with explosives, detonators, security cracking hardware and software (my specialties), and various homemade devices that were sometimes as much of a threat to the user as the target. It was fun though, and the edge of danger laced everything with the addictive drug of my youth – adrenaline.

The fighting always seemed to be getting uglier, though my view was also getting better. The gang never gave me gory details, but I generally heard enough and saw enough injuries to piece together what was going on, in addition to frequently having a hand in the preparation. About a half-year after starting at the garage, I actually overheard Vlad telling Tito that they should lay low. I tended to be quiet and absorbed when I worked, so everyone was generally accustomed to my innocuous presence.

Vlad was saying, "You and Benny, all you guys, you need to sit tight until we know what we're up against. From what I've heard a batch of _special_ troops has just docked to put down anarchy in the colony. They'll be looking to make an example, and I don't think we should throw ourselves on that particular sword."

"Or maybe we should strike before they have time to stage a real offensive," Tito argued fervently. "All this waiting and laying low shit, it's just let the Alliance get entrenched!" Next to him, Asha nodded in agreement, but Vlad didn't like backtalk and whacked his nephew upside the head.

"Don't be a fool, Tito, or you'll end up dead just like your ma. You wanna be a martyr, but the Alliance won't even notice your death." It was clearly the wrong thing to say, for Tito stormed out of the garaged with an angry "fuck you" on his lips.

"At least she had the courage to stand up for her beliefs," Asha snapped over her shoulder as she quickly followed. Vlad cursed under his breath, and left soon still in a foul mood.

The next day, the garage was quieter than it had been in ages, and I tinkered harmlessly for a couple hours, waiting for nothing that ever happened. Only Vlad and two of the older mechanics were in, but Vlad just grumbled around the garage and the others had nothing to say about matters. I left early to convince myself that I didn't really care.

Anticipation was in the air again the next day, and I had a panic attack in class while waiting to get to the garage. Sister Helen tried to get me to open up about it, but I had become a fast talker, fast enough to squirm farther and farther away the safety of my makeshift family. When I got there, the garage was quiet again, and I tried to immerse myself in some light programming. Despite my nauseous anxiety, I managed to spend an hypnotic hour in front of the screen, right up until Tito appeared next to me, looking tired and agitated but determined.

"What do you know about mobile suits?"

My heart sunk in dread, already knowing that this was going to be bad. I had read and researched a fair amount about such suits, as they interested me mechanically, and cuz flight was just plain cool, but I had never actually seen one.

I told him so, and he scowled. "What about the controls, what're they like?"

I guess I could answer that... "It depends how complicated the model is, but basics… Thrust and break are right and left foot pressure pads, torque is triggered by spinal rotation. And they usually use the standard two-handed triaxel sticks, like the ones those tiny pod-ships have."

"Psh, only richie brats fly those pussy things."

I shrugged at that. I had worked on a pod-ship at the garage, but I had never flown anything in my life. Though I had once hacked into an Alliance flight simulator, and had practiced obsessively on it for weeks before finally being detected and blocked…

Tito's appraising look was making me distinctly nervous.

"You're pretty smart, aren't you Duo?" he said with fake casualness. "I've seen you fix shit that you couldn't even identify, figuring out things that even my Uncle didn't know about engines. You've given every worker here a lecture about mechanics, even at the risk of getting an ass kicking."

He stopped then, clearly waiting for an answer. "I guess," I said, not liking the direction of the conversation. I know I'm smarter than most, and knew it then too, but I seem to make up for it with a terrible knack for getting in trouble.

Then came the calculated bomb, "I bet you could figure out how to fly the suit."

"What?" I squawked, backing up quickly as panic shot adrenaline through my veins. "No fucking way!" The idea was completely insane.

Suddenly, I was confronted by Tito's monster side, and I thought I recognized the signs of Shinigami's single-minded influence. He grabbed me by the shoulders and got into my face, growling, "I saw you yesterday, worm, eavesdropping. Uncle is old, he's afraid to risk too much, so I took a group to scope out the base. Strictly a look-see, we snooped around, mapped the area and IDed the mobile suit, then slipped away undetected. We can slip in again, security was a synch. I can get us to the suit, if you can take it from there. It's only a small one, probably not even capable of long distance space flight."

The adrenaline redirected itself, and in a flash I foresaw the imagined feat: the unleashing of Shinigami's destruction on deserving Alliance soldiers. Was the bad karma of killing them in their sleep erased by the fact that they had fully intended to terrorize the L2 poor? I was as certifiable as Tito for considering it, but I have also always had unhealthy levels of confidence. As in, I have no idea what the fuck my freak self is capable of, but I've proved over and over my ability to survive things that have left others dead.

I don't think I nodded, or even moved a bleeding muscle, but suddenly Tito was assuming my assistance, nodding and jittering worryingly. "Good, good. I know we can do it. Tonight, okay? The sooner the better, they won't expect us to move this fast."

I shook my head quickly, "Tonight? Tito, I can't do this –"

"That's crap. I've _seen_ you, you're some kind of goddamn child genius. If you don't do this, someone is going to die in your place. Maybe a lot of people."

I swallowed heavily, suddenly petrified. I didn't want any part of this (right?), but I felt trapped suddenly by his assessment. I had met most of the crew at one time or another, they were the expected band of disaffected and abandoned youth; they all showed some redeeming qualities, but that didn't make them fit for the sort of ambitious operation Tito had in mind.

Again, Tito took my non-reaction as acceptance, and took his leave, throwing over his shoulder, "Tonight by the church doors, zero hundred hours."

I stared after him with a mix of shock, dread, and anger, before recognizing the disgusting taste of my own saliva as Shinigami's own thirst for revenge; and it felt _natural _to feel that way. I lived in two universes that evening: part of me returning to my normal life at the orphanage, pretending that nothing had happened; and part of me counting down the seconds until midnight like an addict waiting for his fix.

After everyone went to sleep, I lay restlessly in bed, trying to calm the need to gather 'supplies', as I would have done in my previous life. There were no guns or grapples at the Maxwell house, so instead I spent the hours picturing what I remembered about mobile suit design, imagining how I would have to move the navigation stick and how g-pressures would feel in a successful takeoff. An intrusive strain of thought kept returning, warning that the whole plan was ill-conceived and probably suicidal; but this single voice was drowned out completely by the thrum of low level adrenaline.

When the witching hour finally neared, I quietly slipped out of bed and carried my shoes as I snuck by the rows of beds. I took a final look as I closed the door behind me, and it felt so much like good-bye that I took a moment to memorize the room that had sheltered me through sleep and dreams for years now. Even if I was to return, I would not be the same person after tonight, that much was almost certain. Then I crept downstairs and easily bypassed security to let myself out into the chilly night. My nose could pick up traces of smoke, a familiar enough occurrence in the slums to hypothesize that somewhere in the barrio a building or two was burning to the ground.

I waited on the church steps for almost forty minutes, growing cold and anxious, sitting inconspicuously in a nook at first, then pacing uneasily as time ticked by. When Tito finally appeared in the street, moving quickly towards me, I was so wound up that I was almost ready to punch him in the face for making me wait.

Tito was clearly out of sorts himself. Even Zoo, standing a couple meters away, looked like he was barely containing his stress. Tito grabbed my elbow forcefully, his eyes hard and demanding. "Open the church doors."

"No fucking way!" I barked back. "I won't let you desecrate the church." There was no way I was going to let this street terrorist pilfer or sully a place that Father Maxwell and Sister Helen loved so much. I tried to rip my arm away, but his fingers held fast their bruising grip.

"It ain't like that!" he growled back, shaking me violently. "Soldiers are searching the barrio, arresting anyone who can walk! They killed Uncle V-Vlad," his voice broke, but he forged on desperately. "And they burned down Tabby's building, with all those families living there . . . We got who could together, the church is the only safe place to hide them. The Alliance fears God, because only He is more powerful."

My resistance started to slip, but I was still reluctant, in part because I had so little faith in God myself, despite others' fervent belief. I started to shake my head and refuse, but Zoo spoke up with a pleeding voice, "Please, Duo, it's not just rebels they're after. It's families and friends, anyone unlucky enough to even know one of us."

I felt his guilt, and it stirred my own. Sister Helen and Father Maxwell had given me shelter, what right did I have to deprive these folks of the same? I found myself nodding and turning towards the church doors. They had old-fashioned chains and bolt locks that could easily pick with the paperclip that hung from my hair band for exactly such circumstances. Tito watched me piercingly as I worked lock after lock open, while Zoo ran off to get the refugees.

They must've been very close, because they were all back within minutes, just as I was removing the last thick chain from the door. The refugees, some twenty-something strong, were a sad bunch. I recognized the old mechanic who worked with Vlad, a couple junior Young Avengers, three younger siblings, and four girlfriends that had managed to stay out of the gang; the rest were assorted kids and elderly parental figures that I had never seen at the garage.

With Tito's help, I hauled open one of the heavy doors and let the group in. Several of them blessed me on their way in, and I thanked them and shepherded them through. Then I turned to Tito, who had been joined by Asha and Zoo. "Keep everyone quiet tonight, no lights or cooking. I'll introduce you to Father Maxwell and Sister Helen tomorrow if you need to stay longer."

Asha and Zoo vaguely agreed, but were then cut off my Tito's orders to tend the refugees. I allowed to Tito steer me back out the great church doors. "You need to lock it from the outside," he explained.

I didn't ask where he was going, I just secured the chains and bolts. When I was done and looked over at Tito, I tensed: he had transformed again, and before me now was what I dubbed MonsTito – half monster, half Tito. Clearly recent developments had only motivated him further in regards to his harebrained plan. "Now, we're gonna get over to that base, get ourselves a damn mobile suit and blow that base straight to hell!"

I opened my mouth to once again refuse to be part of this spiraling madness, but Tito's patience must've run out, cuz a barrel had been leveled at my face before I had uttered even a single syllable. "I'm sorry, Duo, but I can't do this without you."

Shifting my weight from foot to foot, and observing Tito closely, it occurred to me that I could probably take the older teen. Sure, he was definitely bigger and held the gun, but he was visibly on edge, and kept glancing from side to side. I was spry and lethal, and could likely knock the gun out of his hand before he had time to react... But then what? This wasn't at all like the two soldiers, I _knew_ Tito, I even kinda liked him. I could barely bring myself to stand up to him, let alone seriously hurt him.

"Let's go," he ordered, and I followed him down the street, trying to ignore the dread that grew in me with every step I took from the church. Is this how that doctor felt all those years ago, when I kidnapped her and forced her to help my friends? We walked silently down a couple blocks, then we got into a hovercraft. I definitely could've taken him out while he was flying (and probably survived the crash), but I was gradually losing motivation to escape. I have no real excuse; I gave into the excitement and the itch for vengeance that began to crawl through my nerves like Shinigami's own tendrils. Fear was nowhere in sight.

Tito kept the hovercraft low to the ground and landed a couple miles away from the base. He changed into an Alliance uniform, grabbed a small backpack of supplies, and then we left the vehicle parked on the last street of residential buildings to trudge through the field of air filters that separated the docks and the base from the riffraff. I understood then how the Young Avengers had been able infiltrate the base – Tito knew the maze of passages perfectly, bypassing every camera and security detail as we turned so many corners and climbed across so many air ducts that I began doubting my ability to retrace my steps. I can only imagine how many endless hours he must have spent in this desolate place to move about so easily, and my respect for him climbed.

Tito knew just how to get through the base's walls too, and he led me to a pipe manhole cover. They were normally rather difficult to open, but Tito managed with such ease that the seal must've been previously broken. We climbed down to the sewers, neither of us much disturbed by the foul smell, then crossed over into the Earth Alliance base. There was a mesh of metal bars designed to prevent just this maneuver, but a laser torch had been used to cut out a crawl-through hole, and we crawled through quickly.

Standing underneath another manhole cover, Tito finally turned to me and broke the long silence with a conspiratorial whisper, "This will take us up on the other side of the wall, then we'll have to keep low and circle 'round to the launching pad."

He paused, then his monster bared his teeth a little in disgust as he demanded, "Can you do this?"

Our mostly silent journey had lulled me back into the survival-mode of old, so it was my own monster that grinned back maniacally. Newly equipped with a smart mouth, I said, "Or die trying."

MonsTito and Shinigami shared a moment then, chuckling without humor. Tito handed me a loaded gun and an extra 15-clip. I check the gun, tucked them both in the back of my pants, then clambered up the rungs before cautiously shifting the loosened manhole cover. I peeked up carefully, then crawled out and moved towards the shadow of the wall; Tito replaced the cover and joined me, then we moved quickly along the wall towards the launching pad. When we neared, I caught my first glimpse of a real mobile suit and it stopped me in my tracks for a moment. It was absolutely magnificent, steel and titanium planes reaching maybe a couple stories high – small by interplanetary standards, and clearly designed to fly in colony airspace, but amazing nonetheless.

Tito shoved me forward, and we approached stealthily, almost reverently. By the time we reached the foot of the suit, I was growing paranoid at how easy this was all proving to be. Something bad was bound to happen. Statistically.

Looking up at the massive machine, I noticed the rungs that led up to the cockpit at the top. "I hope you got some goodies in that bag there," I said to Tito.

He smirked at me, then dug around in his bag and proffered an all-frequency remote control, like the one I had used on the streets years ago, but more sophisticated. Indeed, when I took it I recognized it as one I had modified myself at the garage – I had put a lot of effort and research into it, and it worked on damned near everything.

Then he handed me a little com unit to pin to my collar, saying, "I'll keep watch down here, then you tell me when you get it open. I'll join you."

I nodded sharply and dashed up the mobile suit. The adrenaline and endorphins surged through me as I climbed to the cockpit, then perched at the door to begin cycling through frequency combinations. If I was lucky it would only take a few minutes to stumble on the right one, but sometimes it could take nearly an hour, and in a very few cases no match would be found at all.

Ten minutes passed, then twenty. I was growing twitchy and hyperactive in anxiety, when suddenly I heard the sound of the cockpit door unlocking and sliding open. Grinning, I reached up to the radio at my collar, only to have it come to life under my fingers, "Take cover, three men coming this way. They haven't seen us yet."

Only then did I notice that my transmitter was still running in other hand, which could only mean that someone else had opened the cockpit. I punched the device off, then dove into the open hatch without even a plan. I glanced around desperately and knew almost immediately that I couldn't just take off; the main power wasn't on and it would take precious seconds for me to figure out the unfamiliar control panel. I felt a surprisingly deep pain of regret that my first time in a mobile suit was under such miserable circumstances.

The only obvious place to hide was in the space suit closet behind the pilot's seat, and I wedged my skinny self in tight. If I had been even a little heavier or taller, it probably wouldn't have been possible at all; as it was, there was barely enough room for me to pull the door closed. I noticed with regret that the door could only be opened from the outside, but it was too late to do anything about that now…

There was hardly any room to move around, but somehow I managed to turn off the radio com then arrange myself so I wouldn't cramp or suffocate. The bulky spacesuit that shared the closet pressed along my body, assisting the wall in carrying my weight, while the darkness was absolute. Within minutes the little closet had grown both hot and claustrophobic, but I easily ignored my body's distress in favor of the one informative sense to which I still had access – hearing.

For a while all I could hear was the accelerated beating of my own heart, and the loud sound of my breath hitting the suit material a few centimeters from my nose and mouth. Then I heard the sound of boots on metal, and I concentrated on tracking the movement as someone large climbed into the cockpit, walked past the closet, and presumably sat down in the pilot's seat. I both felt and heard the slight hum of electrical energy as the mobile suit came to life, and the pilot began talking to someone through a radio. "Control, this is Captain Sergez. Requesting permission to begin launch procedures. Over."

"Roger, Captain," the radio crackled back distinctly. "Permission granted. Trajectory G clear for launch. Over."

"Roger. Over and out," Sergez signed off. The barely noticeable vibration was the only warning I got before we were in sudden jerking movement. Without any visual cues, it felt like we stumbled along for several unsteady steps, then I felt the engines rev and I instinctively braced myself as the titanic suit took flight. The gee-forces were negligible though, prompting me to conclude that we were not breaking atmosphere, but my knees still felt weak at my first real launch.

The flight smoothed out quickly and I had a handful of stifling minutes to gather my wits before I heard Sergez's detached voice. "Control, alpha target in range. Over."

"Roger, Sergez. Fire at will. "

Two loud shudders racked the mobile suit as it launched two missiles, followed distantly by what could only be the sound of the target exploding. Panic raced through nerves like a burning drug and the sweltering heat sped up my breath, so I was finding it hard to think. I bit my cheek so hard it bled, finding my focus well enough to direct it towards the hints of a plan.

"Control, beta target in range, over."

"Roger, Sergez, fire at will."

The first shudder came, and a half-second later I slammed my weight against the door in time with the second –

Nothing happened, and I growled quietly in frustration. I struggled in the confines until I finally had my spine against the back of the closet, and had managed to raise my foot against the door. I could tell from touching the lock that it had given somewhat from my first attempt. It was only designed to secure the door in zero gees, not actually prevent access, so I was hoping my next try would do the trick.

"Captain Sergez, this is control. Prepare to receive coordinates for additional target. New rebel hideout has just been identified. Over."

"Roger, control."

I waited for torturous minutes before the time finally came.

"Gamma target in range. Coordinate check for target: 150 point 88 S, 19 point 02 E. Over."

"Roger. Coordinates verified. Fire at will."

The first missile launched, then with the second my foot came crashing down to the door, sending it flying open. I stumbled out of the closet, struggling to maintain balance on shaky legs; it didn't help matters that the interior lighting was almost blinding to my light sensitive pupils. I heard Sergez bark, "What the fuck?" and then, with a desperate fumble, my gun was leveled at the pilot.

"Don't move asshole," I annunciated clearly despite my disorientation. Blinking rapidly, I managed to see enough of the captain to recognize that he had no intention of following the orders of a twelve-year-old rebel, gun or no gun.

"If you kill me, you'll die in the crash," Sergez stated reasonably, one hand on the flight controls and one moving towards his belt –

I shot him in the thigh, causing the man to scream and fall from his chair. The mobile unit tipped dangerously, and I quickly stepped over the writhing figure, snagging the handgun at his belt, and grabbed the hand controls to halt our sudden plunge. And then I got my first clear view through the cockpit window, and my blood ran cold.

The great pile of stone rubble was only identifiable as the church, while the surrounding buildings were more identifiable even as flames were reducing them to ashes and burnt plaster. _I_ had planned on getting the still breathing pilot to land the mobile suit, but Shinigami turned then, and without taking one hand off the controls, shot the bastard in the chest three times, and once again in then skull. Pointblank.

Like a recurring nightmare, I was once again splattered in the blood of my victim. In a period of seconds I had regressed completely into that monstrous thing I had been so long ago, as though the intervening years had changed nothing. Father Maxwell and Sister Helen had given me so much love and effort, and I had repaid them unkindly by keeping my beast alive and well in its deeply buried lair. Only I was to blame if he got loose and maimed people.

I could barely stand to look at the wreckage through the view screen, and I was certainly in no state to fly anything for the first time in my life. Fuck, nothing mattered, I was possessed by such a need to get to the remains of the church that my hands grabbed the controls, and like a zombie I took the mobile suit down. Luckily the distance was relatively short, because I didn't even try to land the damned thing, just tried to crash in such away as to avoid buildings and somehow survive.

The suit's legs hit the ground too hard and they buckled, pitching the cockpit forward into the ground. I was holding on for dear life, but I was still knocked around mightily. Only when all momentum stopped did I let myself collapse forward, my elbows and knees giving out entirely. I breathed deeply, trying to gather my wits as best I could, and forcing down the immanent mental crisis. There wasn't time for that shit, I had to get outside to the church.

With Herculean effort I forced myself vertical, and climbed out the hatch without ever giving the corpse a second glance. The advantage to my unorthodox landing was that the cockpit now directly touched the ground and I climbed down easily. Then I sprinted just as fast as I could for what remained of the orphanage.

The children's dormitory and the dining hall were completely destroyed, but one corner of the building's frame still stood tall, surrounded by a jungle gym of smoking debris. Neither heat nor smoke slowed me for even a moment as I dashed up the bricks, hollering, "Sister Helen! Father Maxwell!"

I thought that maybe I was in the vicinity of their quarters, and I was rummaging frantically through the wreckage, not even feeling the burns to my hands, arms, and legs. I couldn't let Shinigami take them, I was only moments behind!

When I spotted black material, I dug it out, both relieved and disappointed to discover that it was only one of Father Maxwell's robes. I held it close to my chest for a heart-wrenching moment before I slung it over my shoulder and continued my search.

I was making so much noise in my desperation that I almost didn't hear the gasp, "Duo…"

I pinpointed Sister Helen, trapped under two rafters and ceiling debris with blood and ash and dirt camouflaging her face. I was on the problem immediately, wedging my shoulder under one of the beams and saying, "I'm gonna get you out, Sister Helen!"

But when I shifted the beam just a little, there was an agonized scream, and I froze. Somehow it made matters all the worse that I had never witnessed my idol be anything but composed and in control. "Stop! Duo, please stop!"

I returned to her, crawling back under the rafters. I saw then that something had punctured her abdomen, and she had bled heavily, though now the flow seemed to have weakened. I recognized Shinigami's claim on her at that moment, and with that realization I came back to myself like a ton of bricks dumped over my head.

The full experience of human despair attacked me violently, causing me to keel over brokenly and scream my ache into Sister Helen's shoulder. Giving even in death, she comforted me with a weak grip on my hand and her hoarse whispers, "You can do this, Duo. You are so strong. God made you special, so that you can do great things. . ."

It was the last time I would cry for a very long while, and I continued to hold her even after she had gone limp and my tears cooled. My eyes mapped every feature of her kind face, including short blond hair that was usually hidden under her habit. Then I forced myself to say the hollow words of God that Sister Helen would have wanted.

". . . though I walk through the valley of shadow of death, I will fear no evil . . . for thou are with me. . ."

The sound of Alliance fighters flying overhead finally stirred me to action, driving me from the wreckage of my life at the Maxwell Orphanage. Deja-vu echoed through my mind, like the wail of sirens in the night.

The hungry animal I had been as a child was nothing compared to the crazed monster I became in the following weeks. I can say now that I had some sort of breakdown, but the conclusions I drew in this state affected me for years.

Overwhelmed by despair, I started walking and never looked back. I had lost my family again, but this time there were no survivors to look after, and I felt too exhausted and vacant of anything but pain to be able to start again. Some rational part of me couldn't understand how so many friends and acquaintances had died despite my best efforts, so my guilt had become a righteous maniac in its own right.

As a child guilt had been beyond me; but at twelve, after years in a Catholic orphanage, the little troll practically ate me alive. It tortured me with distressing, obsessive thoughts of worthlessness and remorse that forbid me from sleeping or resting or ever ever _stopping_. I am the first to admit that I did not deal well with these feelings, and within days I was ranting to and conversing with myself like a madman.

My very footsteps followed the mantra: kil-ler, kil-ler, kil-ler.

"Shut up!" I would yell when the guilt or the self-loathing or the hopelessness got too loud, regardless of where I was. I trudged directionlessly though barrio after barrio, aging a year with every passing block. A few people tried to harass me, but most of them were easy to drive off with a wave of my gun and an abortive charge in their direction. Even on L2 you leave the real crazies alone.

My mental health deteriorated further with lack of sleep and a poor appetite. My memories of those two weeks fused into a confusing blur. I remember crying out for Solo and then Sister Helen, even as I pinched and hit myself repetitively in a vain effort to find some semblance of self-control.

I remember running through the streets, convinced that Shinigami was at my heels; but then another time, I'm sure that I was hunting that bastard. He felt so close at every moment, just around the next corner, and the constant anxiety cycled me through terror sweats and hysterical laughter. Sometimes I even prayed that he take care of my dead, because surely they must be better off away from this hell.

Sister Helen, Father Maxwell, and Zoo all appeared to me in waking hallucinations, whispering messages just beyond my hearing.

"What is it? Please tell me," I begged the phantoms on the street and in my head.

A couple times, I thought I saw one of the kids from the orphanage and I desperately chased them through the crowds, only for them to vanish mysteriously. Ghosts of the past had staked out all the old haunts, so that I wanted to run far far away from everything familiar, off this graveyard that was L2. I dressed myself in Father Maxwell's robe, in a misguided attempt to get closer to my dead mentor, but instead I began to fancy myself Shinigami's chief priest.

I traversed almost a third of colony's circumference in a delusional haze before my dysfunctional thinking finally settled on a useful, if dangerous conclusion: I _am _Shinigami. There are not two halves, just one whole, no matter how fractured. I don't just release him to become a killer sometimes, he possesses me always, and everyone I associate with is bound to fall under our touch sooner or later. He is a swift murderer for sure, but he can also lay in wait for years – and that is when his damage is the worst. I would have to be careful in the future.

I finally lay down then in the burnt rubble of an old building, retreating there like a dog to die. I didn't get up for a few days, sleep coming like a coma. When I finally woke, I was felt empty and overly aware, as though I had spilt everything I was during my breakdown. It was sterile and lonely, but preferable to the recent turmoil. All I had now was the knowledge that I was Shinigami, but what could I do with that?

I started walking again, but calmly now, looking around and trying to assess the situation logically. The first thing I did was steal some food, but then I had to turn my attention to larger matters.

I was such a curse, the only people I dared inflict myself upon were my enemies… which got me thinking about a career in revenge. If I could not protect my friends, then perhaps I could trip up my adversaries. I knew then what I wanted. I wanted to learn to fly space ships and mobile suits; I wanted to use those weapons to rain down fiery justice on the Alliance and any other enemies; I wanted to use Shinigami's dubious talents where they were deserved.

Or maybe these were all just lame rationalizations for my desperate desire to escape L2, and all the jagged memories that festered there.

OH, WOE IS ME, PLEASE REVIEW. Prevent this enactment The Tragedy of the Commons. If you read for free and never review, the writers cannot thrive for the benefit of all. Sincerely, your author.


	3. The Sweepers

Gilly Wrist: Thanks again for the fabulous reviews. You may not be able to review more than once, but the one review spurs me on for days! Mo-re, mo-re, mo-re… I'm trying to post fast, but I have discovered that even once I have edited, I need to go back and edit those changes! And I'm sure there are still typos! OCD overload!

**Chapter 3: The Sweepers**

"It tries to kid me that it's just a teddy bear, or even somehow managed to vanish in the air, and that is when I must beware . . . of the beast in me." – Nick Lowe, The Beast in Me

Eventually I walked into a sign for Mainport, which, true to its name, is the largest and by far the busiest port on L2, and so sponsors a dense concentration of colonists. In this part of the colony, the streets bustled noisily with people, carts, and trolleys, lined by multiple-story businesses and residences. It was nothing like the stagnant, decaying barrios I had lived in before; men and women walked the pavement with purpose, as though their lives were going somewhere. Security prodded those who stood still to long.

There were no abandoned buildings in Mainport to squat in either, so I just walked towards the East Wall for a couple hours. Finally the urban jungle gave way to many kilometers of secured docks, running along a wall section of the colony circumference. I spent the day studying the limited ship information provided at each landing site, listlessly heading towards the bigger docks in search of something on which to stow away.

One ship did catch my attention though, a salvage tanker docked in one of the larger spots. I noticed in particular that a group of rambunctious men were standing out front, dressed in identical jumpsuits with the word 'Sweepers' visible on the back. The men going on shore leave would provide the opportunity to sneak onboard, while the name rang vaguely familiar from my time at the garage. I didn't know all the details, but I suspected that the Sweepers had supplied the rebels with some of the equipment that had come through my hands.

It was all for the best really, who better to use against the Alliance than the rebels? And they themselves seemed to be such fucking assholes that I didn't even feel bad about inflicting my cursed presence on them. As far as I was concerned, we were all getting what was coming to us. So I cleaned myself up as best I could, and cat napped under an overpass until midnight. Then I went back and waited outside the Sweepers' dock.

I had probably been there for nearly an hour when I spotted my ticket onto the tanker. Four men, extremely drunk by the sound of their loud slurs, and five scantily-clad Ladies of the Night came stumbling toward the dock hatch. I let my hair down and quickly removed Father Maxwell's white collar, knowing that this particular play was going to be 99% cajones. In a flowing black suit and long hair draping down my chest, I sorta looked like a girl, right? In the dark at least?

I joined the back of their group as the Sweepers scanned us through the airlock security.

The Sweepers were as shit-faced as I had thought, they didn't even notice my presence. Two of the whores glanced at me with mild surprise. I smiled mischievously, looking like a complete freak but relying heavily on the L2's pervasive code of silence. The one woman arched an eyebrow at me, while the other just turned away with a smile on her lips, and I was able to stealthily pass through the airlock and onto the tanker in their complicit company. Hiding in broad sight was a tactic I had used a lot on the street, but this was risky even by my standards. I slipped away from the group as soon as I was on the Sweeper ship, and allowed myself a deep sigh of relief before stalking through the ship in search of an access panel...

I'd seen schematics of tankers before, but nothing had prepared me for this maze of empty rooms and intersecting hallways. I stuck to a pattern of movement, so that I could retrace my steps, but several near-encounters with crewmembers required me to repeatedly reorient. I noticed a number of hiding places, and managed to nab a couple nutrition bars in my passage through a small galley.

Again, it was a little unsettling how easy it was to fall back on old habits. I had never really believed any of Sister Helen's and Father Maxwell's Catholic truths, though I had lived faithfully to them for a few years. Shinigami is the only god that has ever spoken to me, and even now I knew what he would do. I snagged myself a blanket from a crewman's quarters, then headed back to a maintenance room just down the hallway. The door wasn't even locked, and inside I found just what I was looking for – an access hatch to the maintenance tunnels that ran through large space-faring ships like this.

In sharp contrast to the typical Alliance and later Oz ships, security was almost ridiculously lax about this supposedly civilian salvage vessel. The hatch opened without any security check, granting me entrance to the bowels of the ship. The tunnels were so short in many places that I had to bend sharply and squat in order to 'walk'. It got even harder to keep oriented, but I headed in the vague direction of the ship hull, where (theoretically) there exist fewer reasons for maintenance.

The dead end vent that ran to the hull was a convenient rest spot, narrow but tall enough to stand and generally out of the way. I ate a ration bar, washing it down with some water from my thermos, then curled the blanket around me for a nap. The entire scheme was reckless and ill conceived, but I just felt relief at the new psychological distance from my ghosts. Besides, I had pretty much perfected my current strategy of 'dive straight in, and deal with the repercussions as they come'. I was asleep in moments.

I woke with a growing need for a bathroom, and I spent the next hour carefully sneaking around in search of accessible facilities. When that was finally accomplished, I undertook a thorough investigation of the vents and maintenance tunnels. I traversed the length of the ship and back, and over the next week I developed a rough schematic of the tanker in my head. The ship was even larger than I suspected, allowing for an exceptionally big hanger and cargo bay. The excessive size made some sense for salvage purposes, but I was still curious as to what exactly was housed in these large but less accessible spaces.

I managed to locate the mess hall, which provided me with food and water, though I tried to keep my pilfering as modest and undetectable as possible. Three days after stowing away, I heard the speakers announce our imminent departure, and within an hour I detected a distinctly different feel from the tanker (though I have been since told that this is not possible), which I assumed to mean that we had left port. Now that we were in space, it was unlikely that my discovery would result in an immediate return to L2.

I was reluctant to abandon the safety of hiding in the vents, but I also managed to observe enough of the crew during those first weeks to realize that they were not the bad people. None gave any indication of rebel activity. As far as I could tell, there were around forty men and ten women, most in the mid-age range, with a few old and young outliers. There was a flashy guy wearing ridiculous Hawaiian shirts, who might be the captain, and he seemed both laidback and friendly – which was a little encouraging. And the other crewmembers seemed a good-natured, if a rambunctious and lively bunch.

I stayed in the vents for as long as I dared, tallying the days methodically until almost a month had passed. I would have stayed indefinitely (though I was reeking pretty bad by this point), but I began to genuinely fear for my mental health. I thought I had just regained control of myself, but now I was losing grip on reality! Slipping into the old ways wasn't as easy as it had been in the old days.

What had started as a routine of scavenging, exercise, and sleep, quickly fused into an endless series of forgettable mindlessness. The solitude and environmental deprivation slowly chewed away at my nerves until I exercised compulsively just to stifle the nervous twitching and tapping. I paced rapidly and repeatedly through the vents, as if willing someone to find me, and spied on anyone I could safely see, just to get some glimpse of humanity; but then I would have to pinch angry welts on my arms to keep myself from calling out and drawing their attention. I started outwardly talking to myself to drown out my even crazier inner-monologue, only to discover that this too was addictive and that I couldn't bring my mouth to stop forming words, talking crap to all manner of imaginary folk.

"I hate you, Tito, you stupid son of a bitch. This is your fault as much as it's mine. I hope the Alliance got you... Sister Helen would've wanted me to forgive you even after all that's happened, but I'm not the person she wanted me to be... I wonder if Father Maxwell and her are together in heaven. Can they see me now?... Oh, Dear Father, what should I do?... I know you want me to move on with my life, but how can I when any mistake might kill someone?... I shouldn't have given those rebels refuge, this is all my fault! I deserve this shit!... Shinigami, I know you're out there, just waiting, waiting, waiting… You couldn't save Solo, you weak excuse for a god. You can kill, but you can't bring to life... That's when it happened though, isn't it? When the Alliance shocked me and t-tortured me... I was weak and you got in somehow, I know you did..."

I talked until all I could do was whisper, and I think my lips moved even in sleep. I had not had a single _real _nightmare since leaving L2, but instead slept fitfully through strange and twisted dreams of endless empty tunnels. I was losing myself, lost lost lost in space. And without interaction with another living being, how could I prove my own existence?

A couple times, when I was making one of my routine journeys through the vents, I thought I was dreaming when I wasn't. This first time I thought it was a fluke, but the second time it happened I was genuinely disturbed. I was not so blind or stupid to not recognize my own deterioration, and it didn't take a shrink to figure out why: loneliness was eating me alive. Long stints in space have a distinguished history of psychological warfare, and I had started my first space journey with a severe handicap on that front. Matters had just proceeded predictably.

I eventually made an executive decision, while I was still capable, to take my chances with the Sweepers rather than continue to decompensate in the maddening confines of the maintenance shafts. I recognized the distinct probability that they would try to put me in the brig or something, and there was one thing I really wanted to know first. My hyperactive mind had grown increasingly obsessed with the mystery that was the hanger bay. True, I had not been inside, but only _insanity _justifies the intensity of my craving to know. So I when decided to out myself, I just gave in and let myself be drawn to the hanger like a heavy magnet.

There was only one way into the giant compartment, as it was designed to be seal off from the rest of the ship when open to space. This meant that I needed to steal an ID in order to get past the mild security, but I had already discovered or devised easy access to over a dozen personnel quarters, so it was simple enough to swipe one (and some ration bars) from a sleeping crewmember.

I let myself into the hanger during the ship's artificial night cycle, when I hoped it would be empty. I had no such luck, as I could hear the loud sound of mechanical labor coming from behind a small space shuttle, but my entrance did not seem to register. I slipped instinctively along the wall towards a space speeder, where I could hide while I observed my surroundings.

There were two shuttles that might have been space-worthy, in addition to the one obviously under repair; a handful of space speeders and a half dozen space tractors in the upper spectrum of functionality. Further away from the launching area, the vehicles were in much worse condition, many in various stages of salvage or repair.

The hanger seemed gigantic to me, but obviously still far narrower than it should be based on its outer perimeter... Sure enough, when I looked more closely at the further wall, I could see that it was designed different from the rest of the hanger, as though it had been added later; as though it was dividing an even larger area.

Curiosity tore my frazzled mind in multiple directions, only to catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye. There, near the back of the hanger, were two scorched and dented mobile suits. Thoughts of approaching the working crewmember, or of investigating the peculiar wall, disappeared completely as I suddenly fell under the morbid thrall of on those damned things. I approached like a man possessed, and only stopped when I stood before their empty shells.

One was blackened from superficial burning, and I stared at the dozing monster as though it was Shinigami's own snoozing form. Such a thing had murdered Sister Helen and Father Maxwell and Zoo and all the orphans, and all those people in the church; I remembered then that I wanted to use such a weapon to avenge their deaths.

A manic determination set upon me then, desperately grabbing at any straws that promised shelter from the pain of loss and loneliness. I climbed into the mobile suit that appeared to still have a mostly complete cockpit, despite being more outwardly damaged. I crawled into the pilot's seat and focused all my anger on the controls before me. Without even touching anything, I could figure out what most of the panels and controls did, and how they operated… pretty simple really.

Except that when I reached out to power up, absolutely nothing happened.

I was so wound up that this first obstacle was enough trigger a minor tantrum, and I flailed my arms and legs angrily, striking paneling painfully. "Piece of shit! I'm gonna destroy you myself, you pathetic fucking excuse for a mobile suit! Work, damnit!"

Inside the suit, without electrical audio, my rant went unheard beyond my little enclave. After my little burst of energy, I was able to focus a little better. What the hell was I doing? Nothing seemed to make any sense anymore and sneaking on board a salvage tanker suddenly seemed like a terrible idea. I could be shot or jettisoned when I was found, and hiding in the vents was not a long-term solution. Not for me, it was too easy to slip back to being an animal; already I was returning to the paranoid and irrational thought patterns that had served me too well as a street rat.

I had gotten myself in quite a mess though, and I let my head rest in my hands as I tried to sooth my grating frustration. I needed to set myself on a task, if only to get my mind straight. In my current state, I didn't stand a chance of talking myself out of any encounter with the crew. All I could think to do was fix the goddamn mobile suit, if only to give myself the opportunity to calm and collect myself. I told myself that maybe it would impress the crew, or maybe some miracle would allow me to escape with it, anything to let me grasp at hope like a drowning man to a lifejacket. Like a nutbat to a thread of sanity.

First, I climbed through the narrow access shunt to assess the damage to the suit; it was extensive, but I was relieved by the calm that overcame me when I was finally able to _really_ focus my wandering mind on something. After I covered the inner length of the suit, I climbed out entirely. I carefully assessed the almost empty hanger, then cautiously raided the two nearest workstations, managing to pick up about a half dozen handy tools and additional repair supplies. There was a lot of superficial damage to the suit, but there was also plenty of work to do within. So I crawled into suit's core and immersed myself in twisted, damaged mechanics.

Many hours passed, and I worked single-mindedly for a long, indeterminate amount of time, ignoring the occasional sounds of life around me. Eventually I fell asleep over a wire-bundle that I was making, and then woke early into the next night cycle. I used the suit's lavatory system, and partook of a couple ration bars before returning to my repairs. I definitely felt more coherent and coordinated than I had the day before, and I easily tracked the passing hours, so that I knew when the morning shift would be arriving.

Still, I felt the same strong reluctance to leave the suit that I had to leave the access shunts, despite my resolve. This time, however, I was cognizant enough to recognize some of emotions behind my hesitance – the flavor of distress, the edge of fear, those particular shades of shame and humiliation. It was basically an anxiety attack, but without the hysterical panic that so hindered action.

I had been haunted by such fits ever since being tortured and Solo's death, and it was a relief to discover this new control over them. And yet the phenomenon felt connected to the part of human-me that I had _suffocated_ during the madness following the destruction of Maxwell Church; did it matter that it was a terrified, hysterical bit? The excision had seemingly succeeded, until reality stopped making sense without human bit.

Disturbed by these thoughts, I returned to the mobile suit repairs. There was a lot that I really wasn't capable of fixing, but there was enough damage that I easily identified a couple systems that I could repair. I threw myself into it, and worked all through the afternoon and night shifts, and into the next morning before I finally managed to restore power to the defunct machine. Undetected for over forty-eight hours, I half-feared and half-hoped that the Sweepers would hear the whine and crackle of strained electric currents.

I climbed into the pilot's chair and managed to activate the view screen. No one appeared to be coming for me, and I felt strangely disappointed. I let my hands slide along the controls as I pictured the great machine moving with my every whim, and I shivered with an even stranger sense of longing. I imagined what it would be like to become one with the giant metal body, to deliver death like Shinigami and never feel any damage. My fingers curled reflexively around the control for the right arm, the only extremity whose circuitry I had repaired to a significant extent.

For an instant I froze, straddling sheer terror and absolute calm, then I pulled the stick forcefully back, and after a moment of resistance, the damaged metal arm jerked up with a loud scrape of metal. I didn't get audio inside the suit, but I saw a couple crewmembers stop their work and take notice. With effort I got the stiff arm to reach out straight from the chest, hand up in a gesture to stop – and was impressed that the suit's fingers all appeared to be functioning despite the external damage.

Shinigami lent me his patented sociopathic grin, as well as typically flamboyant idea. I curled down two fingers and a thumb, so that the suit was giving an old school peace sign. Outside, several Sweepers were warily approaching, a couple pointing to what I could only imagine was the absurd sight of a resurrected mobile suit flashing peace fingers. Still, I didn't miss the burly, scarred man who had drawn a handgun from his workstation.

I nodded absently at his wisdom, vaguely wishing for the comfort of the gun I had dropped after killing Sergez. Still, my survival now depended on these people taking me in, so I needed to be seen as useful, not as a threat. It was going to be a difficult act to pull off, especially without having slept in over a day… Yet the time felt oddly right.

I slid out of the pilot's chair, then stood stiffly for a long moment, trying to gather my wits before I slowly opened the hatch –

The burly guy was pointing his gun at me and another man had a taser, so I cautiously raised my hands up to my shoulders, palms outward in the universal gesture of surrender. The small crowd of Sweepers must've been thrown off by my appearance (I was, after all, filthy tweenie dressed in oversized priest's robes), cuz I heard several gasps and exclamations, and the smaller man lowered his weapon after a moment.

"Who are you? And what do you think you're doing in there?" the burly, scarred man demanded, gun still raised in my direction. Unmoving as a stone, my eyes flickered over the other crewmembers, a couple of who seemed more concerned with the scarred guy's behavior than my own. He grew even angrier when I finally locked eyes with him but made no effort to move or speak, having already written off this cretin as unlikely to give in to reason or sympathy.

"Answer me, damn it!" he yelled.

"Charlie . . ." pleaded one of the few female Sweepers, diverting Charlie's fierce scowl towards her. "He's just a kid."

"Looks like space tumbleweed to me," an Arab looking man chuckled, not looking at all surprised or put out by my presence.

"He's a thief, Sa'ad," Charle grumbled. "Bet you my whole paycheck he came on at L2."

"Well, obviously. But just 'cause he smelled your BBQ all the way out on the hungry street!"

Someone must've reported what was happening, because just then the funny-looking man in a Hawaiian shirt (who I had gleaned to be the Captain) strode up beside the Charlie dick. The crew clearly deferred to him as he studied me with a slight frown, but there wasn't much to see while I remained frozen immutably in the gun's sights, nervously waiting judgment.

Whatever the Captain saw, it seemed to only concern him further, but he turned first to the big Sweeper next to him. "Put that thing away, Charlie. You know you're supposed to keep it locked in your quarters. Besides, the kid's unarmed, and he looks bratty enough to let you shoot him rather than talk to you."

Charlie gave me a withering glare, but he lowered his gun. As the Captain turned back to me, I forced myself to act like a person by offering an embarrassed grin and a little wave. With a thoughtful expression he beckoned me closer, so I climbed down from the mobile suit and approached cautiously, conscious of maybe a dozen pairs of eyes on me.

When I stopped in front of the Captain, he nodded towards the suit and asked, "How'd you do that? That suit is nowhere near operational, we were gonna use it for scrap."

I shrugged. "It still isn't operational, I just restored power and repaired some of the wiring in that arm. Not much else works, except the visual screen and a few of the internal functions."

"_You _restored power?" the Captain asked, clearly impressed.

I grinned toothily. "Yep. Only took about twenty hours."

The die was thrown.

The Captain raised his hand and stroked his pointy beard, apparently reevaluating me. "So, how long have you been here then?"

I shrugged again, like nothing mattered. "A couple days in the suit, about a month and a half on the tanker."

"Since we left L2," the Captain mused, and I nodded. "That would explain why the environmental controls were reading high. And the reports of ration-bar theft."

"Yeah, sorry about that," I said, though I doubt that I sounded very apologetic. "Even in space, food brings the cockroaches out."

The Captain laughed loudly at that, as if suddenly able to connect with me through humor.

"More accurate than you probably realize, kid," he said, giving me the once over again before thrusting out his right arm. "I'm Captain of this ship, but everyone calls me Howard."

I was beginning to feel a little better about the situation, and I smiled a more naturally when I took his hand and introduced myself as Duo Maxwell.

Releasing my hand, he smirked frankly. "Well, young Maxwell, you appear to be in a bit of a conundrum. Our lady is in the middle of nowhere, so there's no place to disembark. But we are not in the business of providing free passage."

I could tell by his tone what he was getting at, and I felt a refreshing rush of relief; it was about the best outcome I could have hoped for. "I can work for my room and board, no problem Cap'n. Got experience with all sorts of equipment and computers, I'm sure I can be useful."

"Please, it's just Howard... I'm sure you're of age to work, right? Sixteen?" Howard eyeballed me a little there, and I found myself nodding in response to his telepathic command. "Welcome to our crew then, on a trial basis anyway… Learn the drill, and your whatever story you're gonna use."

"Thank you," I replied with genuine gratitude, my relief finally letting fatigue flood my body.

It must have been obvious because Howard said, "Why don't you get some rest? Natalie here will show you to a bunk in the crew quarters."

Natalie, a beast of a woman, took my arm with surprisingly maternal gentleness and led me away from the crowd of people.

"And Maxwell?" Howard called, so I looked over my shoulder. "Take a good long shower."

I _was_ awfully ripe, and a shower sounded like heaven. "Sure thing, Cap'n."

The Sweeper lifestyle suited me well. I stayed up forever working on ships, suits, vehicle parts, tools, weapons, and all manner of space technology and debris. Sometimes I learned by watching others, and a few times I asked some questions, but mostly I just figured my way through anything I came across. I worked myself until I was exhausted, then fell into a wasted sleep, vacant of dream or thought; only to rise like a zombie mere hours later to resume my tinkering.

I had been assigned a cabin to share, but never slept there after the first paranoid night spent listening for changes in my bunkmate's breathing. If exhaustion got me I crashed in the hanger, or if Howard ordered me to rest I retreated to the comfort of the maintenance tunnels. I turned the dead end tunnel from my early days on the ship into 'my room', dragging in a small mattress and lots of blankets, effectively recreating the comfort of my early homes on the L2 streets.

I did, however, take full advantage of the communal eating and bathing areas, and that was about the right level of social proximity for me. To my surprise, the crew warmed to me quickly. I was several years younger than any of the other Sweepers, and I think they liked having a 'kid' on board; so I did my best to fulfill their expectations. I was naturally curious and energetic, if also rather high-stung. Though I had to repeatedly overcome the strong street instinct to just lay low and hide, the advantages to being loud and cheerful were obvious. In addition to having a socially acceptable outlet for my hyperactivity, it actually seemed to be endearing me to people. A couple of younger engineers were positively friendly, and several of the female crew started looking after me in little ways.

The truth is, the tanker was completely different from the streets and from the orphanage, so I had to again adapt to a foreign environment. The Sweepers were foul-mouthed and told dirty stories, so I cursed and laughed raucously. They rough-housed and yelled insults at each other, so I pushed back and became the spastic puppy they somehow assumed I was. In me they wanted to see the next generation of Sweeper, so I learned to mirror them.

It was frighteningly easy. I became someone else as quickly as I had ripped my old self apart, but I didn't dare mourn the passing for fear that I wasn't actually capable of surviving the death of everyone I loved. The memory ached constantly from where it was buried deep in a traumatized part of my mind that I avoided at all costs. I couldn't afford to waver from my dual goals of survival and, ultimately, revenge. Nor did I know where making friends fell into my grand scheme.

"Hey, short-stuff," I heard one of the younger crewmembers call to me. The slanderous name calling was unfortunate, but under the assumption that I was still growing, I didn't let it bother me.

I rolled my dolly from under the vehicle I was working on, so that I could look at the grinning Sweeper towering over me. "What's up, Sa'ad?"

"You're gonna wanna come see this," Sa'ad snickered, probably a little slaphappy from finishing an always grueling salvage shift.

I clambered to my feet, easily asking the expected question. "What you do this time?"

Sa'ad just grinned like even more of a fool. He had sorta befriended me, but his real friends were these two slightly older mechanics, and the three of them spent most of their free time contriving elaborate and obnoxious pranks on other members. I was kinda glad that he had never tried to involve me. I was way too good at that sort of thing.

I followed him casually to where big grumpy Charlie was working on the land suit he had been fixing up for a couple weeks. On the periphery I spotted Sa'ad's two friends, Tim and Vardo, tinkering inconspicuously from carefully selected vantage points. Sa'ad and I took up position behind a large vehicle and watched Charlie wrestle off the massive panel that protected the emergency battery. It appeared to be stuck, and I began to get an idea as to what the Trouble Trio had done.

"You guys are gonna get it this time," I whispered excitedly, suddenly regressing to a time where I had played harmless pranks on Sister Helen.

Sure enough, Charlie quickly lost patience and just ripped the panel off with all his might, triggering a loud POOF!, and an explosion of expanding gray foam.

"MOTHERFUCKER!" Charlie bellowed in surprise, covered in the crap. It was _everywhere_, and had been projected quite a distance. Sa'ad had covered his mouth to hold back the laughter that wracked his ribs, but his two buddies were significantly less successful and Charlie spotted them immediately.

"I'm gonna rip your nuts off with my wrench!," he roared, wiping his face free of foam even as he moved towards his tormentors with surprising speed for such a burly man. Tim didn't waste any time sprinting out of reach, so that Charlie bore down on Vardo, who could only stumble away laughter. Charlie grabbed him by the collar and hauled him upright, growling, "You're gonna clean up this fucking mess punk!"

He roughly dragged Vardo back to the mobile suit. The younger mechanic was, unwisely, still choking back laughs – though, in his defense, Charlie was just looking more and more ridiculous as the gray foam started hardening on his hair, beard, and clothes. The ruckus had attracted several amused spectators, but still the burly man picked out my chuckle to glare at me.

At the feet of the suit, Vardo snorted loudly, and Charlie let go of him with such a jerk that Vardo fell on the slippery froth. He stopped laughing then, but others had started clapping; funny their pranks could be, the Trio had crossed just about everyone aboard at one time or another. Encouraged, Charlie grinned menacingly at Vardo and began dragging him on his ass along the slimy floor plating.

Sa'ad had finally snuck out of hiding to watch the show, and as he passed, he clapped me on the back in a friendly way. It struck me then that I was feeling genuinely happy, for the first time since before the destruction of the Maxwell Church Orphanage; that for a moment I had forgotten. Guilt swelled in me, which I soothed harshly by reminding myself why I was here: to learn to wield Shinigami's heavy hand of revenge. I was not here to enjoy myself to much, whatever I projected to others.

Besides Sa'ad and a few of the mechanics that kept similar hours to me, a number of the female crew had also befriended me, though bemothered me might be the better term for it really. They were nothing like Sister Helen, but even I could recognize the transference of my affections.

They had taken to ambushing me during the lunch hour – the only meal I regularly showed for. Ally and Shaquita often waved me over before I even made it through the cafeteria line. On the day of the memory in question, I picked up two hamburgers, fries, a milkshake, and a pie, then made my way over.

"Hiya, ladies." I steeled myself for the onslaught of gossip and repartee that was about to ensue.

"Heya, Duo," Shaquita smirked. "Brought me seconds, did you?"

"No way!" I chuckled, taking a seat at the small round table. "I'm hungry enough to win an eating competition right now."

"Those guys better not be working you too hard," Ally menaced, though she knew full well that I kept the hours I did of my own volition.

"Naw," I said anyway, a mouth full of food.

"Those men are just jealous of you, peaches, 'cause they know we like you better than them," Shaquita stated jovially, reaching out pinch my cheek. I jerk away desperately, trying to avoid the forceps-like fingers, to which Ally to burst into hearty laughter.

I swallowed my potato mush and said, "They'd be heartbroken to hear you confirm it though."

"They'll survive. Unlike Drew from the morning shift," Shaquita added, with a snarky look at Ally.

Let me interrupt to say that, in deep space, there are only two things to talk about for any length of time – shop and gossip. I excelled at the former from the beginning, but under the Sweepers' tutelage, the latter was quickly becoming second nature.

"No, you didn'," I gushed, mouth once again full. "Wha' happened?"

Shaquita opened her yap to answer, but Ally cut her off, "Shut it, you! Duo, honey, it's like this... Some people just don't understand a good-bye unless it is spelled out for them in neon lights."

"Ha!" Shiquita barked with repressed laughter. "She insulted his performance and equipment size over the engine room speaker!"

Ally's mock-stern expression broke then, into a reluctant, somewhat predatory grin. I couldn't help but laugh, causing the food to suddenly go down the wrong way.

"Slow down, Duo," Ally ordered affectionately. "The way you eat, it's a real wonder you haven't choked to death yet."

Shaquita rubbed my back as I caught my breath, giving me enough time to think of my witty comeback. I pointedly eyed the chicken bones on both women's plates that I had permitted them to snatch just moments earlier. "I wouldn't eat so fast if I didn't have compete with you two for my meals!"

Ally smirked appreciatively, while Shaquita pretended to be offended. "We just don't want you to get fat, short-stuff."

"Not much chance of that with you around," Ally shot, directing Shaquita's mock wrath towards herself.

In retrospect, I think these sort of meaningless adult interactions shaped me powerfully. Having grown up on the streets, then in an orphanage, I had only a poor understanding of how mature adults operated in the 'real world'. I developed my long-term templates for positive adult interaction from the Sweepers crew, and, whatever others might say, I am confident that this served me well in the dark times that followed.

Of course, some things about being treated like an adult kinda sucked. It meant that people stopped pulling the punches, something that I mistakenly thought I was already accustomed to. In fact, I was ill prepared to answer questions that I had largely managed to evade in during my so-called childhood.

Howard in particular seemed to have taken a mild interest in me, and had stopped by the hanger several times to show off by demonstrating trade tricks to difficult repairs. The guy was talkative and friendly and I found myself cautiously trusting him. He was pretty cool, what with being the captain and really knowing his mechanics.

It was getting hard, though, to sidestep the questions about my past, and it was obvious he expected an honest response eventually. I conceded what puzzle pieces felt safe, like me being an orphan, and then used them to smokescreen the more damning pieces. I was good at evasion, but I was no liar, and it didn't take Howard long to pick up on this fact.

He waited until I was deeply immersed in a systems check before asking bluntly, "What're you running from, Duo? We will be passing through Alliance checkpoints, and as captain I need to know, for your safety and for the safety of the crew."

He spoke with the same calm enthusiasm he seemed to have for everything, but I sensed how close he had drawn behind me, in a silent display of either support or intimidation. How like Father Maxwell he was at the moment, that my mind blurred the two individuals for a moment.

I shook my head to reorder my muddled feelings. On the screen before me, system after system came up clean, but I was more focused on my own reflection. I looked miserable and pathetic and guilty, and I knew I could not turn this face upon the good Captain. Bowing my head, I forced my confession out as if before God's own judgment, "I'm running from all the graves, sir. Everywhere I go, people die. Solo, and Puppy, and the rest of the Wolf Pack, Father Maxwell and Sister Helen, and all the orphans they took in…"

"You survived the Maxwell Church Massacre?" Howard ventured hesitantly, but with such awareness that it jerked my head up with a shock of betrayal.

I nodded shakily, and forced myself to croak, "How do you know about it?"

Howard's expression grew a more concerned then, and he explained, "It was all over the colonial news for a couple weeks, the Alliance has gotten a lotta flack over the incident."

The _incident_. I closed my eyes for a second, because I felt something tender whither with that word; but there was no room for weakness in my mission of vengeance, only iron dedication. I again traded my pain for hate, wiping my eyes violently, and it was suddenly easier to talk.

"Good. They killed a lot of innocent people back there," I hissed angrily, practically spitting, causing Howard to step back at the viciousness in my voice.

It was my mistake, because Howard probably wouldn't have thought to ask anything further if Shinigami hadn't reared his ugly head. Instead, he asked with unprecedented care, "And you? Did you kill someone?"

I turned then to face the man, because the pathetic boy had been replaced with Shinigami, who never had to hide from anyone. I met Howard's eyes full on and spoke the naked truth, "Only bad people. Only in the protection of others."

Even locked-eyes with me, he was inscrutable as he asked the question to which he already knew the answer, "Were you able to protect them?"

I scowled at him, practically baring my fangs. "No."

My slightly unhinged behavior barely phased the odd man, and he calmly turned his eyes towards the cockpit controls, running his fingers along the steering handle. An oppressive silence stretched thin before Howard started again, "More important than what you've done in the past is what you intend to do in the future. An ambitious kid like you is bound to have plans."

My pulse, already strong, felt suddenly louder in my ears, as opportunity presented itself elegantly before me. If only I was adept enough to take advantage of it, to not bite the hand that offered. With a nervous inhalation, I confessed, "I want to learn how to fly mobile suits. I know I would be good at it. The best."

There was a beat before Howard returned, "And just what would you do with that ability, continuing kid?"

I straightened, bristling a little at the assault on my age. "I'd protect the colonies," I asserted earnestly.

He turned towards me then, stroking his short beard and appearing to think in that way of his. I suppose he came to some decision, because he said, "I believe you would."

Then he began to act as though I had not just bared my worst skeletons to him.

"Well, thanks for sharing that with me, Duo," he said jovially, placing his arm around my shoulder. "Your trust is not unfounded. We'll see what we can do about flight lessons... I think you're proving a fine addition to the Sweepers."

"Thank you?" I ventured, astounded by my apparent good fortune. Tell someone you're a killer and get a pat on the head?

He clapped my shoulder once more for good measure, then he stepped out of the cockpit, leaving me stunned and too distracted to do any more work.

I sorta started flight lessons the following week, under the tutelage of Thor. He was a good pilot, a confident shameless flirt, and ridiculously good looking. I had noticed him around before, but now that he was going to be my teacher, I was a little star struck – despite the fact that the first thing he did upon meeting me was mock my braid. His exact words were, "And just who might you be, girlfriend?"

"I'm no one's girlfriend," I said too defensively. "I'm Duo Maxwell."

He laughed at me, which was a little upsetting, but he also threw his arm around my shoulders and said, "I know who you are, your butt-braid is notorious. Now why don't I get you hooked up with a simulator?"

I struggled to react, which pretty much characterized my early reactions to the blonde man. He was too busy to show me much, but I was an avid pupil, and I squeezed every drop of learning from all my experiences. I watched him fly the simulations, instruct others, prep mobile suits, anything of interest. Thor also let me tag along when he was kicking it with others, giving me a quite revealing vantage point to study my new role model. I picked up his flirting tricks, poker strategies, and his secret to distilling good moonshine… and still spent hour after hour on that simulator, trying to match Thor's records. Hours turned into weeks, weeks into a couple months.

The simulator was located in the hanger, closer to the artificial divide than the launch pad and work areas. It was not hard to figure that something fishy was going down in the closed bay next door. For one thing, it was conspicuously avoided and ignored by everyone, save for an obvious few – Captain Howard, his second Rodriguez, chief engineer Gee, and the only other minor aboard. The kid was probably a year or two older than me, and clearly a real hard-ass loner. He stuck strictly to himself, unless with the freaky engineer, but always he radiated a tense readiness that intrigued me terribly.

One day while working together over an engine, I asked Sa'ad about the neighboring hanger. For prolonged seconds he said nothing and continued to work, until I feared that he was just going to ignore my enquiry. Finally he straightened, pulling away from the engine to glance at me uncomfortably.

"That ain't nothing but the Captain's pet project."

"What sort of project?," I asked, managing my curiosity as best I could. Mysteries were still like crack to my hyperactive mind.

Sa'ad shrugged and sighed, bending over his work once again, taking a moment before revealing, "He's going to revolutionize combat as we know it. . . He doesn't reveal much, for security purposes, but we all know he's working on some super mobile suit."

My mind reeled with the possibilities, driving me to dare ask, "What's he going to do with it?"

"Nothing you have to worry yourself with," he muttered, lowering his goggles and firing up his welder. I could tell from the awkwardness that Sa'ad only knew slightly more than myself, but I knew from experience that he was speaking from a great loyalty to and faith in Captain Howard.

Loyalty and faith were common sentiments among the Sweepers in regards to the Captain, and they apparently extended to his secret projects. When I prodded Thor for answers, he remained tight-lipped and poker-faced, pointing out that my distraction would've just gotten me killed if the sim had been real. When I harassed him more later, he shoved a cigar into my mouth – that diverted me just long enough to take a puff, which pretty much knocked me flat on my back...

Then it was time for a different approach. So I asked Shaquita about the teen that sometimes ate in the mess with Professor Gee, and she responded with a shrug and uncharacteristic disinterest. "That's the Professor's student, Dìas. The Captain let them come aboard a couple years ago, and they've earned their keep fighting off pirates. Dìas is a good pilot, I've seen him fly a couple times, but he sticks to himself."

I looked across the mess hall to where Dìas was eating, alone for once. He was bigger than me, with tanned skin and dark, serious eyes. He glowered at the food he devoured, body tense and aware. "I'm gonna talk to him."

Shaquita sighed loudly, as though she had given up all hope, and said, "Of course you are. Don't say I didn't warn you."

I flashed a grin, then left her to her hefty plate of carbs. I caught a couple glances as I made my way to the almost empty table and slid onto the bench across from the only other occupant. He glared at me, barely moving except to raise his head a little. I hadn't thought of anything to say, but it was the Sweepers that had taught me to trust my words enough to just wing it.

"Hiya. . . I came over cuz I noticed that you're younger than most of crew."

He grunted, his brow relaxing slightly as he turned his attention back to his meal.

"Yeah, and it just so happens that I'm rather young myself," I continued straight-faced, then rolled my eyes when Dìas failed to react at all. Was this guy as thick as a brick, or what? (Recalling this now, he does remind me a lot of another dark, stoic pilot...)

I kept my fake, toothy smile in place and tried again, "So, I hear you're a pilot. What sorta stuff do you fly?"

That got a reaction: he glared at me again, clenching his fork harshly. "That's none of your business!"

I held my hands up in mock surrender. "Okay, fine. I was just trying to make conversation."

"Don't!" he hissed, making a stabbing gesture with his fork. "Just leave me alone. I'm trying to concentrate, and don't have time to waste on you."

My upbringing left me a pretty thick skin when it comes to abuse from strangers, so I didn't even miss a beat. Standing abruptly, I said, "It's only a waste if you waste it."

Then I took my leave. Admittedly, I had not learned very much, but now my mystery had an angry and disdainful human face, and my curiosity skyrocketed impossibly. If Dìas had any sense of intuition, he would have realized that he had just met someone who was going to inextricably alter his life; but I don't think he realized anything. Not 'til after it was too late.

Departing the mess hall at a brisk pace, a reckless but determined plan was already beginning to form. I fell back on my one obvious advantage: intimate knowledge of the venting system. None of the mystery hanger's systems were directly connected to the rest of the ship, but that could be changed by someone with access to the tools easily found in the neighboring hanger, where I just so happened to work. I spent the afternoon trying to visualize the vents and access tunnels in my mind, and before long I had a good idea where I wanted to cut through. Since I often worked in the ship proper, and at all hours, no one thought anything of it when I pocketed a handful of metal welding tools when I departed late that night.

I left the main hanger, then traveled its outer perimeter to the maintenance bulkheads that separated the mystery hanger from the ship's primary power relay. I hypothesized that there was likely some hatch between the isolated hanger and the ship's relay, in order to switch to external power in case of emergency. I found it within minutes, to my relief, as cutting through solid bulkhead would have been a far more ambitious undertaking than cutting through a sealed access portal.

As it was, it still took bleedin' forever. If I'd brought the bulky industrial metal cutters, I probably could've gotten in within a few minutes, but there was no way I'd've been able to borrow that without raising suspicion. The stupid ones I had cut at a snail's pace, and even with one in each hand, it took several more hours that night and a couple the following night to finally cut a square in the hatch's sealed door, just big enough for my shoulders. I shimmied through carefully, then cast my flashlight over the darkness. Logically, the once sealed portal opened up to the hanger's environmental processors and power generator, where no one was likely to venture unless to investigate a specific problem. If this hanger followed typical setup, this room would be bordering the main bay, and above would be the control center.

Sure enough, when I cautiously opened the only real door, I was greeted by the dimmed lights of an inactive bay. It was conspicuously free of any ships or salvage, so my eyes were drawn immediately to the hulking suit against the adjacent wall. I'm certain my mouth fell open as I took in the magnificent killing machine.

It was ginormous! Not nice enough to be love, it was basically attraction at first sight. The suit's fierce, invincible aura drew me to it like a supermagnet, causing my fingers to rub together as I approached reverently. In this thing, I would be unstoppable, I would finally be strong enough to avenge my dead and to protect myself, I would...

I stopped just short of the mobile suit, disturbed by the strength of my own feelings – for once not crazed and needing to be put down, just powerful. For someone who had never owned much in the way of possessions, I knew instinctively that this monstrosity was _mine_, and I recognized Shinigami's grin in the glint of its faceplate. But I also knew that my reaction said something unflattering about me, and I even felt a little horrified to take in the terrible vehicle of my vengeance. It was _me_.

I reached out hesitantly and briefly touched the cool metal, frowning slightly at its unfamiliar texture. An ominous shiver ran up my spine, prompting me to turn away and leave the strange hanger, covering my tracks as best I could. I definitely needed some time to think.

Being the nosy cockroach that I am, I didn't stay away for very long. At breakfast that 'morning', at work, I itched in anticipation, my mind spinning through dozens of half-formed and half-witted plans. As my normal shift wore on, two in particular came to the forefront: to collect information by staking out the bay during the activation and manipulation of the suit, and to get Thor to let me test fly one of the small suits out in space. I had used suits while inside the ship, and flown them in simulators, but it was proving tricky to convince them to hand the keys over to a probably-fourteen-pretending-to-be-sixteen-year-old.

Neither of my plans proved straightforward. I snuck into the not so secret hanger at different times, but Professor Gee and Días were not operating according to any noticeable pattern; plus it was kinda hard to just disappear during the middle of a scheduled work shift, and there was a limit to how many nights I could spend sleeplessly playing lookout. I spotted the Professor and pupil a couple times inconspicuously, but they only stood at the feet of my monstrosity, talking and occasionally pointing. Then they would go up to the control room until I decided to leave.

On the other front, Thor was an obstinate ass, for all his natural charm, and I quickly took to haranguing him at every opportunity. Strange how being annoying had finally found its uses! Indeed, persistence eventually paid off and I was ready when my chance came.

"_Pleeeaaassse_?" I whined childishly, before following up with my usual argument combo. "I've got the sims beat! Nothing can go wrong!"

"That's what everyone says, right before something goes wrong," Thor said lightly, throwing down his cards to reveal his hand, and taking a confident drag on the cigar in his other hand. I had tracked him into his favorite rec room to see if my obnoxiousness might be even more potent during his leisure time.

Sa'ad showed his own cards with a smirk. "Ha! That's what you say, right before you lose a paycheck to me!"

Thor groaned and Tim cursed as Sa'ad took the substantial pot, saying, "I think you should give the kid a chance."

Thor didn't even look at me to grunt, "Go do the Dynube sequence on the simulator. I'll give you the code."

"No way!" I objected vehemently, having totally hacked into that supposedly locked sequence and beat the pants off it. "I kicked that thing's ass weeks ago!"

Thor frowned at me then, and it only took me a second to realize what I had revealed. Verbal spontaneity had its drawbacks, but I hadn't done much better when picking my words carefully. I just stuck my chin out farther, determined to keep his attention while I had it.

"How'd you do?" Sa'ad asked with mild curiosity, sipping on his beer. Unlike Thor, he had seemingly caught on to the fact that I was a bit of a prodigy.

I shrugged, trying to remember the score. At the time I had only concerned myself with the challenge of a surviving the sim. Still, I have always had a good eye for detail. . . "Does 2700 sound reasonable? Definitely 27 something the first time around. I did it twice more and got around 3200, I think."

Thor's mouth fell open a little at that. Sa'ad started laughing loudly and the Sweepers next to him asked, "Is this little shit for real?"

Sa'ad shrugged. "He's a clever bugger, I'll give you that. Handy in the hanger too, 'specially with the real junkers that no one else'll work on. Plus, he's figured his way into the ladies' good graces, which is more than most of us."

I grinned sheepishly at that, because it was true, but I also jumped at the opportunity provided by his support, again with childish pleas. "Thor, I'm not lying or exaggerating my abilities. I'm for real, and I can do this! Please give me this chance! It'll blow everyone's mind, and I'll tell 'em that it was all you."

At that last statement, Thor turned to eye me speculatively, as though evaluating me for the first time as an adult and, therefore, a player in his game. He leaned towards me, staring intimately into my eyes until I felt myself flushing involuntarily, then he blew a lungful of cigar smoke into my face. I stumbled back, feeling inexplicably humiliated, but Thor barely seemed to notice. "Well then, hotshot, let's go see what you can do."

Not fifteen minutes later, Thor and I had suited up, and were standing with Sa'ad at the feet of Racy, a small space-bound mobile suit. I had a stupid grin on my face, and I'm pretty sure that my fingers and toes were wiggling with excitement.

"You ready?" Thor asked skeptically, but I was too close now to let anyone back out of this.

"More than ready. Overdue."

I was dead serious, and both Thor and Sa'ad frowned at the cockiness of my words. Then I darted up the suit and climbed into the cockpit, as naturally as if I had been born to do it. Thor nodded reluctantly before turning to scale the neighboring suit. Sa'ad went to the control booth, while all of our activity was attracting attention. A couple of Sweepers waved, but I daren't take either hand off the controls. This was going to be _perfect_.

When I launched into space, it was perfect. I had seen the stars before of course, but it was something else entirely to be surrounded by the endless starscape. A deafening silence, a profoundly liberating emptiness. . . "Solo, old buddy, I wish you could see this," I whispered without thinking, remembering it like yesterday when we fantasized about becoming pilots and getting the hell off of L2. Before all the other kids, and the responsibility, and then the death.

I floated for long peaceful seconds in struck wonder until Thor's voice came over the com, "Dead in space the best you can do, flyboy?"

I closed my mouth and forced my attention back into the confines of suit. The vessel was in the middle of a sizable salvage operation, and clearly not moving any time soon. I wasn't gonna mess with that, so there really wasn't much to work with. I grasped the controls firmly, then took the mobile suit into a simple, smooth roll. Whadya know, it was just like the simulator. . . except that the inertia was real.

A wicked grin ate up my wicked features, and Shinigami pounced, almost without warning. I forced the suit into a crouch, then used a thruster burst to shoot across space, only to come to an abrupt thruster-halt nearby. Then I shot back, right under Thor's suit, and used the opportunity to grab hold of his foot and send him into a spin before moving away to gauge his reaction. I was definitely feeling a little manic.

With a quick thruster burn, Thor's suit came to face mine, and I heard his voice over the intercom, "Aren't you the ballsy bugger?"

"I'm surprised it took you this long to notice," I taunted, like the shitty little tweenie that I was.

"Well, you've got my attention now," Thor practically purred. "Whatcha gonna do with it?"

He laughed, still amusing himself at my expense, and I was every bit as taken aback by the innuendo as he had intended. While my brain continued to sputter in response, my hands were on autopilot, rocketing the suit clear across ship. There were no weapons, nor anything that would be permissible to use as a weapon, so my options were significantly constricted regarding what to do with Thor's attention. Luckily for me, running and hiding are things I do _very_ well.

It only took about five minutes of radio silence on my end before Thor came looking for me. I used the time to quickly examine the ship, looking for the right conditions. . .

"This is a little silly, don't you think? Come on, hide and seek, short stuff?"

"Shouldn't be any problem for you, hotshot," I replied, mimicking him like the shitty tweenie that I was. It cemented his reaction, but I was already smirking because I had just spotted the perfect location.

"None at all," he promised.

I steered my suit close to the engines, which glowed calmly in a state of inactivity; then closer still so that I could incinerate myself with a leap. I shield my eyes away from the light, flickering towards gages that read high, but not quite into the red. I carefully lowered the suit onto the thin section between two thrusters. Balance would be tricky, but it would be impossible to find me without knowing to look, as the mellow glare of slow-burning fuel was still more than enough to blind a persistent onlooker. I plastered the back of the suit to the ship section, so that I faced out to space, then settled down to wait. Patience may not exactly be my forte, but like any good predator, I knew how to outwait my prey.

I stayed there for over a half hour, listening silently as Thor grew so frustrated that he began using expletives and calling me colorful obscenities – only fueling my excited agitation. Unfortunately, my mobile suit was slowly turning into an oven, and sweat dripped down my face and neck and pooled uncomfortably. Heat and adrenaline and a predisposition to a dual personality was a dangerous combination, especially when precariously balance above incinerating energy. I had to remind myself that this was just a game of hide and seek, right? I was not fighting for my life, despite a growing irrational stubbornness, I was just showing off in front of cool and good looking Thor.

I was being a complete pussy, and it was simply unacceptable.

I forced the overheating suit into motion, and poked just over the lip of the engine platform to peer down the length of the ship. Wherever Thor was, he wasn't on this flank. That was enough for me, and I used the suit arms to propel myself over the edge. A rapid thruster burst sent me hurling along the underside of the ship for a moment before I forced a stop at the other end. Another short burst and I was closing in on the hanger bay.

"Sa'ad, do you copy? Open the doors, I'm coming in."

"What!" Thor roared over the intercom, and my smirk grew even wider.

"Copy, Duo. Hanger 1 doors opening," came Sa'ad's voice.

Thor's mobile suit came into view, but he was much too late, and I slipped easily through the airlock and back into the main hanger bay. I docked the suit, then climbed out to the rowdy cheers of the hanger crew – sparing a triumphant wave of course! I swear I was so excited I almost tripped on the way down!

All around me Sweepers slapped my back and offered congratulations, even foul tempered Charlie, always eager to reward an exploit, not matter how harebrained. Sa'ad pushed through the modest crowd, then grabbed my arm and pulled me into a man-hug. Pulling back, he gushed, "That was masterful! Thor had no idea who he was up against!"

I blushed, but my grin only grew wider. It was true, after all, and I was just the type of attention whore to thoroughly enjoy _all_ the repercussions of this stunt, even if Thor got his boxers in a bunch. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

Sa'ad laughed and pulled me in for another, brief hug. "Not from me, flyboy. Never from me! I bet you could take on the whole Alliance if you wanted to!"

My grin faltered a little at his words, close as they were to my plans for the future, but my mouth was clearly on autopilot, "What a splendid idea, Sa'ad. I just might do that."

My friend laughed again, as did the other Sweepers around us. Shinigami's sudden urge to join in caught me off guard, and he used their joyous laughter to hide the release of his own crowing cackle. Somehow, the darkness in me knew that this milestone signified an important step in the achievement of its hateful purposes.

The cheering held up for a few minutes, until Thor had docked and climbed from his mobile suit. The crowd stilled as he approached, and I did my best to look as cocky as possible. It made me question my motives for a moment, as it became clear to even me that I was deliberately provoking the colorful pilot. Exactly what kind of attention did I want from him?

He was frowning, but with a comforting absence of anger. "That was quite the disappearance you pulled," he complimented as he came to a stand in front of me. "Just where were you hiding?"

I almost didn't tell him, out of some base impulse to keep my ticks secret, but I owed him more respect than that. He had been a crap flight instructor, but I had managed to learn a lot from him anyway. Plus, he had provided me with this opportunity to prove myself. "I was between the engines."

Sa'ad's mouth fell open for a second, and I heard several gasps around me. Thor's face had gone a little pale, but shock was clearly warring with burgeoning anger. Sure enough, mere seconds later he yelled, "You did what? That's an awful stupid risk to be taking with someone else's suit and with your _life_! Howard would've shot me out the airlock if something had happened to you!"

I shrugged, not comfortable with the concern and back-peddling from my own similar assessment of the risk. I couldn't let them think me incompetent or untrustworthy. "I knew what I was doing. My readings never got too high, and balance wasn't too hard."

Now Sa'ad was shaking his head, "All it would have taken was a collision with space debris, or a small energy surge, and you'd've been knocked off. . ."

I didn't like the direction this was going in. I'd been in this situation before, particularly with so-called responsible adults: they would diminish my accomplishments through criticism of my tactics. They were always 'too dangerous' or 'not worth it' or some other devaluation that was irrelevant to street value. Father Maxwell and Sister Helen had done it frequently, but I didn't have half as much reverence for the Sweepers as I did for my childhood saviors.

"But I wasn't," I snapped back, though I was trying to keep my cool. "I held my balance the entire time. I stayed for just as long as I felt comfortable, then I hightailed back here when it got hot. I just wanted to show you what I could do, you're always doubting me... "

"Well, you've proved skill, and a complete lack of common sense," Thor grumbled.

There was an uncomfortable, pensive pause that I broke by offering an olive branch of humor. "I'm pretty sure Howard lists those exact requisites in the job description."

The line earned me a few laughs, and the tension was broken. We joked around for a bit more, and I got a bunch more compliments before the crowd eventually broke up. Thor and Sa'ad eventually patted me on the back and took their leave with the clear intention of getting wildly drunk. I probably could have tagged along, but instead I pled fatigue and retired to 'my room' in the maintenance shaft. I think the prolonged heat and radiation exposure, even at low levels, had affected me, because as soon as the adrenaline faded, I felt exhausted, nauseous, and feverish, all at the same time. I collapsed face-first on my narrow bed and slept for the longest time, blissfully free of dreams.

My status among the Sweepers improved after my little stunt, and they began to take me a little more seriously. The first meal I went to after passing out, I was called over to sit at the table with Thor, Sa'ad, and several other rowdy men. I usually sat with the women, but for the first time I felt truly comfortable with their jokes and jabs.

Even on the job, my questions now got better answers, and a couple crew even solicited my advice on mechanical matters. I was feeling pretty good about myself for once. A couple days after "the stunt", Howard came around while I was tinkering under a small fighter ship. I could tell from his crocodile shoes that it was him even before he called my name. I rolled out from under the fighter so that I lay at his ridiculous-looking feet. He was wearing his usual slacks, hat, and hideous Hawaiian shirt.

"Cap'n," I couldn't help but grin.

"I heard you got your spacefeet wet," he grinned back at me. "Find it a little hot, did you?"

I shrugged. "It was like a nice sauna." Though I had never been to sauna in my life.

Howard laughed though, then held his hand out to help me up. "You're a crazy bugger, Duo Maxwell, but I do like you!"

I bounced to my feet. That was a relief to hear, because I knew that my mission of revenge would possibly test his fondness to its breaking point. "Does that mean you'll let me practice?"

Howard grew serious then, but had probably expected the question, because he said, "That was a pretty expensive suit you risked out there. . . No matter how good you are, unnecessary risk tempts fate."

Alas, my particular fate appeared to be more on the other end of death's scythe. But I knew when to compromise to get

what I wanted, and in this case it was easy. "You're right, of course," I said. "It was the wrong place for that kind of stunt. It was stupid, and I knew it even at the time. I'll be more careful and thoughtful in the future, I promise."

I looked him straight in the eye, stomach clenching is apprehension before he finally nodded slowly. "Okay then. You may practice in space, when convenient. However, those privileges shall be revoked at the first sign of further recklessness."

"Yes, sir. Thank you. This really means a lot," I gushed with a relieved smile.

"I know it does, more than I think even you know," he said thoughtfully. I frowned at him for a long moment as he stared at nothing, then he turned heal and was gone.

Howard was great, had really done good by me, but what a weirdo. Though I don't suppose I am much of one to judge. I turned back to the fighter then, grinning like an idiot and rubbing my hands greedily. It was nice for things to go my way for once!

Over the following couple weeks, I managed to practice in space for a couple hours almost every day, and I felt comfortable with a wider repertoire of moves and maneuvers than most pilots ever had to use. Thor was impressed with my progress, but he would've been stunned had he realized how much he missed through his usual patchy supervision. Simply put, I took to space like I'd been born in a mobile suit.

Meanwhile, I kept sneaking into the mystery hanger, slowly gathering information, and had even used the processing room to stash a canteen, some ration bars, a computer pad, and pair of binoculars. I would climb atop a tall power generator, sit cross-legged and stare through narrow ventilation slots at any activity. Unfortunately, whatever Gee and Dìas did all day, most of it wasn't in that hanger.

One day the bridge put an unexpected hold on all flight activity, and on a hunch I crept into the mystery hanger. Sure enough, I watched carefully as Dìas powered up the special suit, and even more carefully as old Professor Gee keyed a wall pad to open the hanger bay doors. Clunky in the confines of the hanger, my monstrous beauty took to flight with a grace and speed I had never seen in any mobile suit.

I was practically drooling and I stayed in hiding all day, waiting for it to return. Alas, an empty hanger is boring enough to dull any enthusiasm, so that I eventually took to napping the time away. I woke to the hanger bay doors opening and the fierce mobile suit landed and returned to rest position. I had to genuinely restrain the urge to rush over and check the suit for injuries – and then Professor Gee did just that.

Running his fingers along the metal of her leg, the Professor ranted loudly, "Dìas! You better not have flown through a debris cloud! How many times have I got to tell you to be careful with Deathscythe! You won't have anyone to fix it plant-side!"

Climbing out of the cockpit, Dìas hollered back in frustration, "I was out there all damn day! I was bound to hit space dust at some point! Deathscythe can handle it."

Professor Gee snorted from his massive nose, and I couldn't help but crack a smile at the funny sound. I forced myself to slip away then, knowing that I had already spent way too long in hiding. I went straight to work to make up the lost time, but I worked mechanically and my mind was elsewhere.

I had learned her name! Deathscythe! It was the perfect name, so appalling appropriate, and I felt an even greater affinity for the great suit. I would fly her, one way or another.

Months passed with the long monotony of deep space. I continued to work in the main hanger, and went about flying, and fixing, and life; and I spied longingly on Deathscythe in my spare time. My odd penchant rooming in a maintenance shaft conveniently covered for my frequent disappearances, if anyone was even looking on the lax ship.

One day, intercom Howard announced an imminent attack by pirates and placed a hold on all flights. It only took me a second to figure it out, but longer to get away, so by the time I had sneaked into the secret hanger bay, Deathscythe was already gone. I did, however, get to watch her return from a quick victory minutes later, and it made me positively green with jealousy.

During these months, the Sweepers salvaged ship after ship from all manner if situations. They picked and sorted and scavenged until storage was full, and the hanger was full, and spare crap was stacked precariously in the hallways. I'm not sure about the cabins, but I had several engine and weapons parts stored in my small 'room'. Then, when finally we could hold no more, we decided to swing by L2 for a salvage dump.

I dreaded my first return to my old home, and was only moderately relieved to learn that we would not be stopping at the colony itself, but at one of L2's trading outposts. The Sweepers were all looking forward to some long-awaited R&R at the small space station, but I honestly felt no desire to leave the safe haven of the ship. The colony's continuing civic unrest and recent spate of terrorist attacks had put already trigger happy colonists on edge. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing beyond these safe confines that would not lead to trouble with a capital T – especially considering the reputation the local stations had for raucous excitement, dangerous dealings, and periodic encounters with lawlessness. It didn't sound like fun to me, it sounded like the street, just further in space.

So I was a little surprised when almost _everyone_ piled off, including Captain Howard and his second-in-command. The skeleton crew left manning the ship was definitely missing a few key bones, particularly in engineering. Ally and Sa'ad were doing a pretty good job of convincing me to get off the ship with them, telling me how far the post was from L2 and how few other ships were currently docked. We made it all the way to the airlock before I saw Días and the Professor debarking with what looked to be computer equipment. There was no way in hell I was leaving the ship now!

"You know what guys?" I started, turning to Ally and Sa'ad. "You almost had me there for a second, but I'm definitely gonna sit this one out."

Ally looked almost worried. "You need to get out, Duo honey. People go nuts when they stay too long in a ship's walls, I've seen it. All the doctors say so."

Sa'ad was a little less concerned, and clearly more interested in Ally's flattering blouse. "Well, Duo here's already a little short of a full deck, but you'll be missing out on some wild times if you stay!"

I had to grin at that, as I turned to make my exit. "Nothing I couldn't see any night at the mess after a few pints!"

Leaving my friends chuckling, I rushed down the corridor to 'my room' to change into my priest robes. I must've grown several inches since L2, I belatedly realized when the clothes fit much better. I knew my behavior here was bordering on sheer irrational compulsion, but in typical fashion I couldn't bring myself to care. Somehow those robes brought me closer to Shinigami, and to the strength that he promised. Deathscythe and Shinigami were manifestations of each other, on the same side of the coin opposite me, so we were going to do this his way.

Putting on a Sweepers jacket over my robes, I returned to the corridors and to the access tunnel I had become so familiar with over the last couple months. Dumping my bag and jacket on the ground, I moved the wall section and then crawled past into the small processing room in the secret hanger. Cautiously, I twisted the door handle and peeked through to the darkened hanger bay, and I felt the usual visceral thrill as my eyes fell on the shadowed mobile suit.

"Deathscythe," I whispered reverently, quickly closing the door behind me to hurry over to the wondrous machine. At this point, I had touched her several times before, most cautiously, but I knew that this time was going to be something else entirely. My joints felt shaky in anticipation as I climbed up Deathscythe, and my fingers trembled as I punched in the code as I had seen Dìas. Just a few weeks ago, with the help of my binoculars, I had managed to catch the entry code as he punched it in to cockpit keypad. I would definitely be upgrading the security if she ever became mine.

Sure enough, the hatch opened up and let me climb in. I plopped into the seat like I'd done it a thousand times before, and just took a moment to appreciate the feel of being there, before sitting up to look at the controls. Most were obviously recognizable, but there were a handful of odd buttons and levers that I could only guess at. I clenched at the butterflies in my stomach and punched the power-up button.

All around me, machinery came to life. Energy began pulsing through the system, humming slightly and lighting up different panels, and my hands curled instinctively around the primary triaxel controls. I had to pry them back off to tap several buttons in sequence, then used them to carefully move Deathscythe's body. I raised her arms and took several steps, wondering at the magnificently harnessed power at my feet and fingertips. I bent her down and went through several basic moves, growing a little giddy with pleasure; she moved with impossible lightness for her size, responding to every movement like a shadow. Still, there wasn't much I could do with her in the confines of the hanger, and there was no way I could leave the hanger undetected, so it didn't take long for my attention to wonder to the giant pole mounted on the wall.

Dìas had taken it out on his missions, and I concluded that it was probably a weapon. I took the present opportunity to grasp the pole at the middle, as I had seen Dìas do. A quick inspection indicated an inactive field generator at the upper end of the pole, and a large slide switch near Deathscythe's hand. Holding the field generators away from me with slight apprehension, I slid the switch, and a long, deadly energy field erupted from the tip of pole.

After a surprised beat, an uneven grin ate up my face. I would indeed be on death's end of the scythe! How absolutely perfect! Shinigami stirred to life with an eerie chuckle, like some invisible parasite gnawing at my gut in sporadic bursts. Or maybe Shinigami knew what was about to happen, and had come early; for just then, a loud explosion rocked the ship, sending Deathscythe sprawling.

Deathscythe was on her feet in an instant (though I now sported some serious bruising), the same moment that the emergency claxons and lights came on all around the hanger. My stomach plummeted. We were being attacked, and Howard had fucked up and let everyone important go aboard station!

I was frozen with indecision for long seconds, before another explosion shook the ship. I was prepared and managed to keep my balance, but it was enough to knock me into action. I needed to protect my home, so matter what. Deathscythe's computer was easily capable of overriding the hanger doors, and I was shortly doing the unconscionable – taking Deathscythe to battle!

I was going to be in deep, deep shit for this, I just knew it. Of course, it was the only choice in the situation, but only a fuckup like me keeps putting themselves in these situations.

I kept close to the ship as cover, but I spotted the attackers immediately: a loose formation of twelve miscellaneous fighters, mobile suits, and ships, firing sporadically at the outpost. It was a pretty large armada for pirates, who usually didn't have the firepower to attack stations. This station had only moderate defenses and a mere three ships docked, so things weren't looking too good.

Not for the first time, I wondered if I had a death wish. What the fuck was I doing? Did I really think I could take on twelve pirates? I had no answer for myself, except that I didn't care as much as I was protesting, and that just made me angry at what a nutbag I was. Anger, as usual, cut straight to the point. I was wasting time with this second guessing shit, so I rocketed Deathscythe into action.

The station had launched several mobile suits that were attracting the pirates' interest, and they were not particularly paying attention to their exposed rear. I was on them in an instant, scythe swinging furiously as I attacked three mobile suits at once. I needed to end this quickly, as I surely hadn't the skills to survive an organized counterstrike.

The scythe cut through the first suits with frightening ease, and the second had only half managed to turn before I sliced through it too. I grappled with the third in close quarters for ten seconds before tearing the mechanical leg of and flipping the broken body away. I was feeling a cool, sickening confidence in my ability to slaughter these enemies. It was the power to spare a life or deliver death, every bit as delicious as I had foreseen. Driven by pure inertia, I sparred with and destroyed the two fighters without sustaining any damage, adrenaline driving a lightening efficiency. Though now I had left my rear exposed.

A missile rushed my way and I barely managed to jet out of the way as it exploded frighteningly close, rattling me within my pilot's seat; then a large mobile suit was upon me, wielding a bazooka-like weapon. It fired at me again and I deftly shot out of the way, only to feel the rattle of ship fire against Deathscythe's legs. I could tell immediately that there was no significant damage, so I didn't even break stride, powering Deathscythe behind the pirate ship, using it as cover against the mobile suit even as I sliced its aft clear in half. The suit fired at me again, and again I spun away, but this time I rushed my attacker, screaming a primal war cry as I plunged the scythe like an ax clear straight through the mobile suit's head and torso.

My immediate adversaries destroyed, I returned my attention to the battle scene, which was now significantly altered. There was an awful lot of space debris, surely that wasn't all my destruction? The station's mobile suits had taken care of a pirate suit and a fighter, leaving only a ship and two fighters – which appeared to be beating a hasty retreat. . . and being pursed by the station's forces.

I found myself suddenly shuddering lightly, coming down from excitement and adrenaline, beset with a belated sense of dread for my future. I looked desperately out to space for a taste of its absolute silence and tranquility, and then after a moment, managed to regulate my breathing. When my pulse too had slowed, I finally realized that it was _too silent_. I hadn't even turned on Deathscythe's communications systems!

Somehow, I suspect it was a Freudian slip of the memory, but I made myself turn it on now.

"-ome in! Unknown pilot, come in! This is Captain Howard, identify yourself!"

Uh-oh. I really hadn't thought this far in advance. I had been testing limits my entire time on the ship, but this pretty blew past everything I had done thus far. I had revealed to them exactly what kind of sneaky rat they had mistakenly trusted all this time. Hesitantly, I touched the com key and replied, "Copy, Captain. This is Maxwell."

There was a conspicuous pause before his voice barked angrily, "Maxwell! Get back to the hanger bay now! Over and out!"

Deathscythe docked with ease, though her pilot was most uneasy. I scaled down her flank to the intense audience of Captain Howard and Professor Gee. The latter simply looked stern, but the Captain's scowl was enough to raise guilt even in my outrageous self. Standing before him with my head bowed, his silence spoke of a rare difficulty finding words. I think he was a little thrown by my odd choice in attire, which I now picked at with embarrassment. I really hadn't intended on anyone seeing me, especially anyone who might suspect its significance.

Finally, he spoke, "That was amazing flying today. Very courageous, and you saved everyone's asses."

It wasn't what I'd expected, but I knew there was more. I raised my eyes then to take my punishment. "But?"

"But this leads me to some pretty serious questions, Duo. And you owe me truthful answers..." His scowl had relaxed, and his eyes grew more searching, even a little worried. "Why are you wearing that robe?"

A million answers flashed across my consideration, but few that didn't make me sound completely off my rocker. Finally I settled for what I hoped was the most acceptable truth, "To remember Father Maxwell."

If he wanted more of an answer, I couldn't tell, but I think he was reassured that I actually had an answer, that I had a story at least. Then he launch into more incriminating questions, "How long have you been sneaking into this hanger?"

I swallowed, trying to remember but knowing the answer wasn't good, and there was no creative truth to offer up. "About six months. . . but, I swear, this was the first time I'd ever been in her cockpit!"

Only, of course, that wasn't the right thing to say either, because the Captain looked outright scandalized. "What were you thinking?"

Professor Gee, on the other hand, was giving me the predator's eye from under his thick hair. He interrupted my dressing down by asking, "Your first time? Have you never been in battle before?"

I doubt my previous skirmishes counted as battles, so I shook my head. "I've only ever taken some of our old suits out on practice flights."

"You must be a very quick learner," he praised, like a total sleazeball. I wanted to dislike him, but I knew that he was a key figure in Deathscythe's future.

"I've been told that before," I replied inanely, trying to gauge the changing expression on the Captain's face.

"Are you hard worker?" Professor Gee pushed. "Can you put in the effort and preparation? Or are you just a right-time-and-place kind of guy?"

Where was he going with these questions? "I do what needs to be done," I shot back defensively. Bizarrely, the Professor seemed to like my answer, and was nodding thoughtfully.

"You've been having problems with Dìas," Howard stated with burgeoning awareness, but clearly mixed feelings.

"He's been training for years, but he obviously hasn't an ounce of natural talent for flying mobile suits," the Professor spat derisively. "Years of preparation has prepared him for nothing! I watched the battle from the observation room, and you performed nearly as well as he does! Most importantly, you showed a genuine feel for Deathscythe. Your moves are somewhat simplistic and obviously unplanned, but spontaneity is also a critical skill. . . something Dìas lacks."

I was astounded by the grumpy Professor's praise, but turned nonetheless to the Captain for guidance. After a thoughtful pause, he shrugged reluctantly. "Well, if you don't care that he's a reckless, insubordinate pain in the ass; and if you, Duo, don't care that the Professor here is a manipulative masterminding creep, then you two will discover a lot of common interests along the lines of murder and mayhem."

"What do you say, Mr. Maxwell? Would you like to train to fight Deathscythe?" the Professor asked snarkily, almost like tempting a dog with a treat, and it was off-putting enough to make me pause before I leaped at this truly unbelievable offer. I clobbered the manic excitement that reared its foolish head with some fourteen heavy years of mistrust and fear.

"And just what would we fight for?" I demanded through clenched teeth, though I had spent enough time with the Sweepers to have my suspicions. Nothing overt, but plenty cursed the Alliance and their interference after a couple drinks.

Professor Gee leaned forward conspiratorially, and whispered loudly, "Why, the freedom and safety of the colonies, of course. The Alliance has made unforgiveable transgressions, and must be punished."

I was aware even then of his deliberate word choice, but it was enough that he was on the right side doing lip service. I wanted to fly Deathscythe, and I wanted to inflict my wrath upon the Alliance, and this eccentric Professor was offering me opportunity to do just that. Never in my life have I ever been handed anything with such apparent ease, and though I glimpsed the multitude of dirty strings attached, I barely cared.

"Yes, they have," I returned vehemently, forcing my reaction to be fueled by justifiable vengeance instead of childish glee at the present confluence of events. "Of course I want to fight Deathscythe, Professor, she's the most amazing mobile suit I have ever seen."

The Professor smiled toothily, while Howard nodded and said unenthusiastically, "I suppose I should have seen this coming."

Professor Gee didn't even look at the Captain. "This is excellent! But there is much work to do, much to do and explain –"

"Hold it!" Howard interrupted loudly, throwing his arm around my shoulder. "Your torture can begin tomorrow, Professor. Tonight, he is mine! He saved the ship, and he owes it to the crew to drink until he makes a fool of himself!"

I cringed, but already knew that this was not something I would be able to get away from for several hours. The Professor acquiesced grudgingly and the Captain was dragged me out of both hanger bays, through the corridors of the ship, and then onto the station. It was exactly the type of place to have a pub as its very first outlet. A lot of the crew was already there, making an awful ruckus, and I wondered if Captain Howard had even changed the leave roster in wake of the attack. Had he learned nothing of readiness?

Sa'ad, Thor, Shaquita, Ally, Vardo, Tim, Charlie, Karen, and a bunch of others rushed towards me to thank and compliment me, and to practically beat the Captain and me with back slaps, high fives, and 'friendly' punches. The Captain steered me towards the bar and ordered two pints of L2's finest lager. One was promptly shoved into my hand, and Howard raised the other one up in the air for a toast. "Sweepers! As you know, today our young Duo put his life on the line to save all of us!"

There was loud cheering, and I was rapidly turning beet-red, but Howard pushed on. "I remember like yesterday when Duo scurried from the woodwork like a baby rat! It has been my pleasure to watch this boy grow into a man, taking on as much responsibility as any one of us. He has wormed his way into our hearts, and is only a couple years away from being the ship's premier heartbreaker!"

There was more cheering, and blushing on my part, then the Captain raised his glasses even higher. "To Duo!"

The Sweepers hollered back, "TO DUO!", then everyone was inhaling their drinks like it was oxygen. I just did my best to manage a few mouthfuls of nasty piss beer.

Then the Captain stepped away, leaving nothing between me and the hoard of roudy, drunk Sweepers. Shaquita beat out everyone to grab me first, and planted a big, red lipstick smooch right on my quivering lips.

"Short-stuff's saved the day!" she crowed, and my supposed friends laughed – probably at my shell shocked expression.

Thor, flanked by Sa'ad and Vardo, managed to push through the crowd and come to my rescue.

"Stay away, you harpy," Vardo joked. "He's still not man enough for you."

Shaquita punched him in the arm, giving Sa'ad the opening to twist by and saddle up next to me, purposely bumping my elbows. "Hey, Duo. Is there no end to the surprises you have up your sleeves? You gonna be Prime Minister of L2 next?"

I smiled a little, "I'd never ruin the surprise by telling."

"You're really too young to be drinking," he grinned back, reaching for my pint and downing it in one swig.

"It tastes like crap anyway," I replied, relieved to have escaped the beer for the moment.

Then Thor was there too, smoking a cigar as usual, and shoving a drink in my hand. "Don't tell me I taught you how to fly like that?"

We shared a knowing laugh, but I did want him to know much I had learned, nevertheless, from my ne'er-do-well role model. So I smirked and said, "You taught me everything I never knew I needed to know. I'll always tell everyone you taught me how to fly."

There was laughter again, but Thor stepped towards me and gave me a quick man-hug that still left me flushed. "You're okay, Duo," he said seriously, as he pulled away. "You'll always land on your feet."

The night, of course, only got more rowdy from there on out, though luckily the attention on me waned slowly as time went on. I was forced to drink another three pints, participate in a round of singing, and witness quite a bit of unseemly behavior before I managed to sneak away, after a good three hours at the shabby pub. It was all I could manage to stumble drunkenly back to my quarters and collapse with queasy exhaustion in my bed.

Only to be roused too soon by a loud banging on my door. My eyes felt scratchy and I think I'd been drooling in my sleep, but I managed somehow to roll out of bed and get to my feet. I hit the button to open my door, which slid open to reveal Professor Gee. I hadn't really had any time the night before to think about my agreement with him, and I certainly didn't expect him in my doorway at. . . 0600 hours!

"Professor?" I croaked.

"There is no time to waste," the old quack commanded. "We have less than a year now until Operation Meteor launches, and you have a lot to learn."

"Operation Meteor?" I asked sleepily.

Professor Gee smiled in such a way that I recognized his purposeful choice of words. "It's your mission if you prove capable. I can always get Dìas back if you don't work out."

To this day I have no idea what happened Dìas after that day and I don't want to know. Though I had no idea how I would compare to the older boy overall, but I pledged, "I'll work out, don't worry. I'm your man."

Professor Gee unleashed that predatory smile of his, saying, "Good. Then I'll see you in the hanger bay in ten minutes."

He left then and I rushed around to get dressed and ready. I paused as I was about to put on my Sweepers shirt, knowing almost regretfully that I was embarking on something new and horrible, something that was better kept as distant from the Sweepers as possible. The only other clothing I owned was the old priest robes that I had worn the day before; I knew the moment I laid eyes on them that I would be wearing them today, despite their sweat and beer stains.

For a moment I panicked, wondering which hanger the Professor wanted me to meet him in. Surely not the main hanger, but I didn't have legitimate access to the secondary hanger; so I could only assume that he wanted me to come the way I had previously. I climbed through the access tunnels and emerged nervously from the processing room under Professor Gee's beady eyes. I think I was even a couple minutes early.

"Reporting for duty, sir," I stated, standing straight and trying to act the part.

The Professor smirked at me. "Glad to see you can be ready at a moment's notice, 02. You will find it crucial in this line of work."

"02?" I asked, though context clues were really enough.

"Your identification number," he provided immediately, now eyeing my braid.

"Well, it's better than short-stuff," I muttered absently, glancing over at Deathscythe.

"That thing does not require a great deal of maintenance, I presume?" The Professor half-threatened.

I knew exactly what he was talking about, but there would be no leeway in this matter. "No, it does not," I stated coldly.

"You do realize that it will have to be cut off if it becomes a hindrance," he replied patronizingly.

I bit back all sorts of nasty replies, and forced myself to grit out, "It never will."

"Very well. Then let me debrief you on the Gundam's specs, then we'll see what you can do on the sims," the Professor continued as though he had not just been threatening a very important appendage. I only followed because he was walking towards my gigantic alter ego.

"Gundam?" I questioned, curious about anything regarding Deathscythe.

Professor chuckled and explained Gundanium to me, making my adrenaline spike with wonder and anticipation. The more he revealed to me about Deathscythe, the more deadly and horrible I realized her to be, and the more I fell in love with her. Deathscythe, Shinigami, and me. . . we were an unholy Trinity of Death.

During the simulations, programmed with Deathscythe's specs, I showed the Professor just what I was capable of. He grumbled about how much work there was to do, but I know I impressed the pants off him because I caught him rubbing his hands together eagerly before ordering me to the gym for an intense workout.

Professor Gee trained my ass off. From that first day he made clear hat he thought my lack of formal training was a major shortcoming, not just as a pilot, but as a ground fighter. I was forced to brush up on my writing and history, though my reading and mathematics were judged "sufficient". He had one of the Sweepers, Jug, teach me Jujitsu, Karate, European Boxing, and other fighting techniques, and I went at it until my muscles screamed and I could barely stand. Then, when the Professor wasn't around, I taught Jug a few old and infallible street tricks, like my once infamous Fiendish Demon bite to the neck, and Solo's perfected testicle-kick eye-gauge combo.

I did the simulations for hours on end to prove my stamina, sometimes even when Professor Gee dismissed me. I went through limited exercises on Deathscythe within the confines of the bay, until he eventually cleared all flight activity and allowed me to take her out into the caress of space. I executed the maneuvers that the Prof wanted me to practice, then took some time to really explore the Gundam's capabilities for the first time. She was truly magnificent, a god even among angels; she flew like an unstoppable bullet, and she handled like every teenage boy's wetdream.

I think I felt the most peaceful and fulfilled that I ever had. My manic energy was being channeled with exercises, my overactive mind occupied with learning, and my ghosts apparently appeased by my direction. For short months, my sleep was deep and soothing, and I discovered that I was almost content. Thor gave me a little shit about my new 'position', but it was mostly ignored by the crew, who appeared to have accepted me more than ever. I spent most of my time studying and training, but my rare down time was spent with genuine friends.

I was taking my first steps into puberty, but it was surprisingly easy compared to other times in my life. I certainly never experienced any new awkwardness or clumsiness that is said to be typical. Professor Gee attempted give me the same sex talk that Howard had given me a year earlier, both of which were every bit as awful as one would imagine. When it came down to it, the Professor's explanation of the body's biological need for release fit well with my natural inclinations, so I overrode Father Maxwell's and Sister Helen's instructions not to touch myself. This is not to say that I masturbated a lot, because I didn't, only when I succumbed to the rare temptation of free time. Even then, it was weird because I never could figure out what to think about while jerking off. I felt vaguely guilty if I tried to think about anyone I knew while doing it, so most times I just closed my eyes and imagined that the tight fist around my hard-on was not my own... Someone who I could share the intimacy of the experience, of the stroking and stroking, faster now, tighter...

I would come, and usually get a laugh at the thought that I was doing what the Professor had instructed. He really was a nerdy old bastard, but I couldn't've cared less. We were both getting exactly what we wanted out of our relationship, so we got along surprisingly well, under the veil of pissy banter. Despite my current happiness, we were both well aware that the purpose of this time was to make me into a more efficient weapon, a goal that Shinigami supported full-heartedly.

Indeed, we were all barreling straight to Hell on Operation Meteor.

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	4. The Gundam Wars

WARNING 1: This chapter definitely has mature content that may be found disturbing by some. There are GRAPHIC TORTURE and medical treatment scenes below. You will receive an additional warning before scene begins, but then you are responsible for your own actions.

WARNING 2: This chapter assumes that the reader has seen the Gundam Wing series, but not the movie. There are brief recaps of outrageous plot that may be confusing without this prior knowledge.

**Chapter 4: The Gundam Wars**

"The beast in me that everybody knows, they've seen him out dressed in my clothes." – Nick Lowe, The Beast in Me

In a locked room off the central gym, Professor "G-like-the-force" (my joke after being corrected) was conducting another one of his assessments. Rubber bullets flew at me just as I leapt out of their way, and landed with a hard roll across the metal floor, adrenaline pumping steadily through my veins. I came up on my knees with my gun already aimed directly at my opponent, and then I emptied a clip at the automated piece of crap. If my opponent had been a human shooter, it would've only taken one bullet to incapacitate. I had definitely become a better shot under Professor G's tutelage, and had learned more about explosives and hacking than I had ever imagined possible.

Then Jug stepped out of the shadows, masked but identifiable by his muscled bulk, and signaling the beginning of the unarmed combat part of the eval. He charged at me with all the confidence of strength and size, but I nimbly darted away a couple steps before taking his opening and landing a round-house kick to his neck. Jug stumbled back, though his hundred pound advantage on me wouldn't let him fall, and my mind darted through the handful of obscure moves that could take this giant down without a weapon or prop.

Jug moved at me more cautiously this time, and we parried for several seconds in circling positions before Jug lunged again and I danced back, well aware that any contact between me and Jug's hands would quickly terminate this match in his favor. Another parry and lunge, and he was vaguely succeeding in cornering me, so I seized the last couple meters of space to launch myself up and against the wall. Jug leaped after me, as though I was a bird about to fly beyond reach, but it was hard to get significant elevation with that much heavy muscle.

With one hand I snagged the remains of the wall-mounted gun, and managed to hold myself up long enough to position my legs solidly against the wall and flip to a hard landing behind Jug. He swung around just in time for me to land a punch square in his jaw before darting off again. Okay, now that was just stupid, definitely Shinigami. The little street rat wanted to run away instead of infuriating the enemy with blows that left him fully functional!

When I fought during practice and killed during simulations, I often felt the familiar rush of adrenaline and urgency that always brought me back to those years surviving on the streets. Except that now it wasn't me fighting for survival, it was Shinigimi fighting for vengeance, and he was going to rip my enemies' limbs off and shower in the blood spray. He took wild risks and acknowledged the possibility that he might turn on me in battle, but it was not a possibility interesting enough to dwell too heavily on. Somehow I doubted the God of Death would let me off that easily.

So it was Shinigami that didn't give Jug time to recover, and launched my body at him so that my legs wrapped around his torso and my hands around his neck.

Then I _squeezed_, not with the force to kill instantly, but with enough to bring the massive man down to his knees suddenly.

"ENOUGH!" Professor G bellowed, blinding lights abruptly illuminating the practice room.

I quickly drew to my feet, allowing my hands to fall from their death grip, and turned to face the Professor's gust of attention – always a minor trial, whether the onslaught was complimentary or derisive.

"That was excellent," he purred in his freakish way. "I don't know how it's possible without years of requisite training, 02, but you are perfect for the mission you are about to embark on. A natural born guerrilla."

"I don't know how natural it was, surviving the streets as a toddler was some pretty intense survival training," I retorted, determined to be as much of an ass as the Professor. He relished in reminding me of what a fabulous killer I am, so I made a point of trying to make him feel guilty – an almost impossible task. Luckily, he was about as lax as Captain Howard when it came to interacting with subordinates, as long as he was getting what he wanted.

"Or maybe the streets simply eliminated the weak," he shot back, then rushed on before I could voice my anger. "It hardly matters now. It's time to discuss Operation Meteor."

That got my attention quick and I followed the Professor back to his office like a good attack dog. After his first mention of this operation, he had refused to say any more; now that his deadline was closing in, I was expecting some sort of debriefing. Of course, I hadn't been expecting the completely senile plan that the Professor laid out before me. It was suicidal, made no sense whatsoever, and harbored a veritable _manifestation_ of unknown variables...

I absolutely loved it! I couldn't believe that the Prof was actually proposing to let me loose on Earth with nothing more than a memorized laundry list of targets! Shinigami and I both operated best with a little room to maneuver.

"Well, I certainly approve," I commented when Professor G came to the conclusion of his rather short explanation.

"I knew you would," the Professor replied grumpily. "However, despite the loose parameters of this operation, you are not to waver from the mission! Crippling the Alliance's infrastructure is critical to undermining their authority in the region. They have developed undue influence in colonial government–"

"Yes, yes, I know," I interrupted, tired of his lecturing rants. I hated the Alliance with a great deal of passion, and I was dedicated to the cause of bringing their leadership down, but this hatred and dedication came from personal pain, not impersonal evaluations and strategic planning.

Still, I was pretty good at compartmentalizing my rage in these days (after all, I couldn't let him realize just how unbalanced I was), so I may have come across as somewhat unmotivated outside the cockpit. Hence the Professor frequently tried to convince me of the importance of destroying the Alliance – using words so dull and dry that I almost didn't give a shit. I'd be glad to start OM just to get away from his nagging.

Now my friends and makeshift home among the Sweepers were a different matter. They had shown a respectful lack of curiosity when I had joined the Howard's 'pet project', and I sorta assumed that they would show a similar nonchalance to my departure. Easy come, easy go, right? Damn, was I ever wrong about that.

"YOU'RE WHAT?" Shaquita bellowed in the mess when I told her and Ally first. "No fucking way! We take care of you here, a young man like you has no business out on your own!"

"Shhh!" I hissed, trying to maintain a scrap of discretion. I hadn't told anyone about OM, but everyone on the ship knew that I had replaced Dìas as Professor G's little super pilot. Now I was going to tell people that I was continuing my flight training on L1, though the rumor mill would effectively connect my story to ill-defined terrorist plots.

"Duo," Ally said calmly, but with real concern, and placed her hand on my forearm. "You don't have to do this, you know. I know you and the Professor have invested a lot of time into this project, but you can still back out. You can choose to stay here, where people care about you. We'd support you," Shaquita nodded, "And Sa'ad, Thor, a lot of people. Even Howard, I think, would stand up for you. If you wanted to stay."

I flushed a little at the open affection, but then I felt guilty. After Solo and Father Maxwell and everyone else, I had not really allowed anyone to take their places in my life. It hadn't even been conscious, and I wondered now if I had lost the capacity to truly connect, then if I even cared at all anymore. Sa'ad and the rest were friends, sure, but they weren't a critical part of me, and I would not break when they died. I never wanted to feel that pain again.

"Thank you both. But I don't deserve this."

The big woman probably didn't read the sadness in my face correctly, but still Shaquita leaned over and wrapped her arms around me. "Of course you do, short-stuff."

And then Ally piled on, making it a three way hug on the bench. "Oh, Duo, don't leave us."

I think we were all close to tears, and I felt even worse. "I'm sorry, Ally, 'Quita. It's just... something I need to do. Not for the Professor, but for myself, and... and my dead."

The hug monster slowly dissolved, then reformed as three Sweepers. Between L2's past plagues and ongoing civil unrest, and the natural hazards of the salvage business, there weren't many Sweepers aboard that didn't understand the demands of one's dead. Ally's father had been killed when a small asteroid ripped through his spacesuit during a salvo-op near the Belt. Shaquita had a dead husband, but she wasn't interested in sharing the story.

Ally actually wiped a tear, and Shaquita ordered briskly, "Just don't join them. Let them stay dead, and you alive."

"That's the plan," I soothed, giving my most reassuring grin.

Thor and the guys from the hanger reacted significantly better, offering encouragement and even a little evidence of envy. I think Thor had always fancied himself as a heroic fighter or mobile suit pilot and he used his hug as an opportunity to whisper loudly, "Good hunting, you lucky bugger."

Unfortunately, Sa'ad held back during the entire public goodbye in the hanger, and I knew that he wasn't entirely pleased. Sure enough, he cornered me and dragged me off as soon as the hanger crew began breaking apart.

"Okay, okay! You got me here, now let go of my shirt!" I complained, straightening my priest's collar. At Professor G's insistence, I had modified it to fit with other pairs of black button-down shirts and slacks; I only complied because the original ensemble was practically falling apart from all the abuse it had survived. Of course, the past months of wearing my priest uniform had done nothing to assuage some of my friends' concern over my mental health.

"Duo, think about this! You're good out there, and I know you think you got what it takes to be the best, but you're only, what? Fifteen, sixteen?"

I sighed noisily and shuffled my feet, really not wanting to have this same argument with all my friends. "Fifteen, probably."

Sa'ad's frown grew even more pronounced, and he paused before continuing on a slightly different track, "You don't need to do this so soon, there's no urgency. War will be upon us soon enough without you going to find it. That's all I'm saying, that you should take more time to train and grow up. You've only been with us for a couple years, and you've only been training for, what? Like six months!"

Those couple years had felt like a lifetime, and I had survived two other lifetimes before that, so that now the entire argument made me feel old and tired. "I'm ready," I said firmly, feeling like a broken record, but wanting to be convincing. "And the time is now. War is at _their_ doorstep because _I_'m bringing it there. Every extra month on this ship is another month of allowing the Alliance to grow stronger and bolder, to kill more colonists. They need to be stopped, and I am just the Sweeper to do that."

"Do you hear yourself, Duo!" he exclaimed, relatively worked up for the good humored Arab. "You sound like a propaganda piece, like Professor G has really gotten to you."

"No, Sa'ad," I returned immediately and forcefully, tightly controlling the tension in my body. "That propaganda was the polite way of saying that the Alliance tortured me, killed everyone I loved like they were nothing, and made me into a murderer. And now I'm gonna return the fucking favor, a thousand times. Or die trying."

How true those words would be. Silence reigned for weighted seconds as Sa'ad took my words in. "I'm sorry," he finally muttered solemnly. "I knew there was something, but not how bad… You never seemed to want to talk about the past."

"And I don't now either. There's nothing for you to be sorry about, it's done and gone. But I want you to understand that I know what I'm doing. I'm not being used by Professor G, if anything we're using each other. I want this."

Sa'ad smiled at me with a mixture of affection and a resigned sadness, and I got the impression that he had known his appeal would be useless all along. He only managed a reply after a wistful pause, "I wish you would change your mind, but I know you won't. You're just about the most stubborn person little weirdo I have ever me... Don't die trying, you hear? I'll miss you for sure. It was fun having you around, like you injected a little life into this old junker, just by being yourself."

I nodded, allowing a little grin and the still disconcerting pleasure of affection; it was almost too much and I was blushing in seconds. "Yeah, we had some good times... And don't worry about me, it'll take more than some spacesick dirt-humping Neanderthals to kill me dead."

"That's for sure," Sa'ad chuckled, regaining his usual equilibrium. "Come on, let's go to the rec room, Thor's probably already breaking out the party gin to send you off. It may be the last time you get to lose your shirt to him."

"Yeah, any day now."

Two days later I got the go ahead, with no opportunity for final good-byes except to Captain Howard, who came to say his farewell in the second hanger. He grasped my shoulder and said casually, "Good luck, Duo, and take care of yourself. It's been handy having you around, but I've got a feeling our paths will cross again soon enough."

"I hope so, sir." We shared a smile, then he left with a parting nod to the Professor – who then proceeded to harangue me with last-minute reminders. I tuned him out, impatient to launch because only then would I truly believe that all this was happening. I had gone from scrounging the L2 gutters to piloting the solar system's most powerful weapon, and I was possibly experiencing some sort of delayed reaction of shock and disbelief. Is that why it had been so easy to say good-bye to my friends?

Then, finally, I was scaling Deathscythe, and Professor G was yelling, "Remember to keep your mind on the mission, 02!"

With a roll of my eyes, I climbed into the cockpit and buckled myself in. I ran the startup sequence immaculately, just to please the eccentric old geezer, then launched into space.

!

Operation Meteor proved... destructive, to say the least. Shinigami blossomed immediately under these idyllic circumstances, fed by a steady diet of clear cut bad guys, and soon I was spending 24/7 in a state of blood-thirty mania devoid of boredom, worry, and pain. Either Shinigami was in my cockpit fighting, or I was trying to figure some way to put him there again. In the background, where Shinigami did not yet pervade, I reminded myself that my victims had forfeited their lives by joining the military, and that the lives of the few sometimes had to be sacrificed for the many; but it was frighteningly easy to get carried away with the murder and mayhem while insulated within a nearly indestructible Gundam. Taking out Alliance fortresses was comparable to squashing termite colonies under your feet, people fleeing the chaos like frightened bugs.

This trigger-happy overconfidence was quick to spill out into the 'real world', where I was not surrounded by protective gundanium. The first time I met Pilot 01, later IDed as perfect soldier Heero Yuy, we tried to kill each other. I shot first, I admit, but he was hardly any better; then that stupid cow Relena Darlian purposely got in the way, despite the fact that Yuy was also trying to kill _her_! Relena and her general girlyness were a little off putting, but I was impressed and intrigued by the 01. I must've recognized something of my darker self in him, only sharpened, more refined and dedicated than I could ever be. Plus he had the deadly strength and ability to follow through with such extremes focus.

So I decided to spring 01 from the Alliance hospital where he was being held, and concocted an outrageous plan to blow a hole in the skyscraper's wall and parachute out. It was dangerously flashy, but there wasn't really time for anything subtler, plus it seemed like a good way to channel this new and inexplicable desire to show off in front of the other pilot. As always, the plan only went half as expected, but both 01 and I managed to blow the joint, with Heero only a little worse for the wear as we literally limped away. And, of course, the obstinate mule still didn't want my help.

"Just trust me a little already!" I whined loudly, growing irritated at the Japanese boy's reluctance to join me at one of Howard's hideouts. "If I'd wanted to kill you, I would've taken you out at the lab. I just want to, you know, exchange information or something. God forbid we actually _help_ each other!"

I was towering over him where he sat taping his broken leg. Heero glanced up long enough to give me a particular scowl that I had already seen several times, and it looked suspiciously like an expression of incredulity. I also got the distinct impression that it was directed more at _me_ than my suggestion. "I don't need your help."

"You've broken your damn leg!" I grumbled with exasperation, not even mentioning how banged up he looked generally. "Now be reasonable. Whether or not you need my help, we do both need to do repairs on our Gundams, and it would be stupid to go to unnecessary risk when I have an accessible safeship." (Like a safehouse, but a ship.)

Eyeing the straining muscles of his neck, I thought I picked up the faintest hint of resignation, and took the opportunity to act. Alert but smooth, I crouched next to Heero and put my arm around his firm torso as though we hadn't just recently been trying to kill each other. "Come on, let's get the outta here before the cavalry come."

"Hn," he grunted, finally agreeing to something, and I felt his tense arm reluctantly grip my far shoulder. Then we pushed up together, and went for our Gundams. Despite his obvious injuries, the obstinate bastard pushed himself fast and hard, and again I couldn't help but be impressed and, well, inspired. Heero was everything I had wanted Thor to be, and that Solo had seemed to be all those years ago; he was a true hero. While raising the Gundams from the water, he actually set his own leg! And then went to work on his Gundam, Wing, way into the night and long after I crashed into oblivion.

When I woke up, the indomitable asshole was gone, and had used Deathscythe's parts to fix Wing! I was outraged, of course, almost homicidally so, but I was also faintly amused and, again, the admiration just kept coming. Then I bumped into him again on my very next mission (another deadly barrel of laughs) and he breaks apparent protocol to save my life, with his usual stoic flare. It kept me from sleeping later that night, forcing me to lie awake staring at the low ceiling of the underground shelter, trying to take stock of the spiraling situation. In all the chaos of killing, it was 01 that was tripping me up.

Just a couple weeks later, in what can only be a case of intentional redundancy or gross lack of communication, our Professors once again sent us on the same mission – this time requiring us to go undercover at a rich boarding school. Heero nicked my name to use as his alias, but I hardly cared; it was hysterical to watch Heero interacting with the student body. At least I had a background amongst children to draw on, but Heero was like an elephant among mice: even one false step could kill someone, and the elephant would barely notice or care.

As the two new transfer students, we were bunked together, and I could hardly pass up the opportunity to grill the perfect soldier a little. Finishing my homework and real work at the end of that first evening, I flipped my laptop shut, then rolled over on my belly and stared intently at Heero Yuy. His back was rigid and posture alert as he sat at the desk, typing furiously.

It had been a long day, what with fighting off the fawning girls and forcing a modicum of attention in class, and it was now easy to fall into an exhausted trance. The sound of typing soothed my ears, and his blurring form eased the eyes. I must've stared mindlessly at him for a good twenty minutes before he gave any indication of noticing. Without breaking the rhythm of his keystrokes, he grunted, "Don't you have anything to do?"

I shook my head, clearing cobwebs and slowly grinning with the awareness of my achievement. It wasn't much, but the bastard had actually spoken to me first! "I'm meditating!"

There was a snort that could've been amusement or skepticism, so I pushed my advantage, "What you doing? Surely not still going over the barge schematics?"

"No," his back responded curtly.

"Well, why don't you share a little?" I prodded, trying not to sound too much like the whiny kid that had begged Thor to let him fly a mobile suit. "Two brains are better than one, and I've got a knack for certain things."

Heero typed for a few seconds more, but then the rhythm shifted and I could tell that he was shutting his computer down. He got up with deliberate movements and came to sit on his bed, opposite me. He glared at me intently, not even trying to hide the fact that he was sizing me up. "You have a good comprehension of civilian behavior, correct?"

I blinked owlishly at him, quite dumbfounded for a moment. I thought it rather absurd that this isolated street rat could be considered an expert on any 'civil' part of the population, but then I had to think about where Heero was coming from. I had interacted comparatively well with the other students, while he had displayed all the social skills of a mild autistic. All I could offer was a weak, "I guess."

My inner turmoil was lost on the perfect soldier, who I suddenly realized was so caught up in his own problems that he was actually asking me for my opinion! This really was a breakthrough.

"Relena Darlian has witnessed too much." He explained after a slow start. "I know what needs to be done, she must be eliminated. . . but I need to understand her irrational behavior."

My mouth fell open a little, dumbfounded even as my mind scrambled to put together what little data I had noted on Relena Darlian. She was painfully girly (and this god-awful _pink_) on the outside, and had made some pretty questionable decisions when it came to Heero. Otherwise, she was definitely strong willed and independent, and at least believably honorable. "Well, she's crushing on you big time, obviously...," I started, trying to form an intelligent answer. "But, it's more than that. She wouldn't just latch on to you randomly. I think that she trusts that you are fighting for the right thing, you can be very convincing."

Heero nodded pensively, outwardly unaffected by my words. Still, he didn't move from his seat on the bed, so I tried to take advantage of his apparent willingness to converse. "Do _you _think she is a risk?"

We gazed oppositionally at one another for long seconds. Heero blinked first, somehow without conceding anything. "Of course she is a risk. But could she be worth it?"

I frowned at the perfect soldier, our eyes still locked, trying to understand what he was thinking, and where he saw the Darlian girl fitting into the mission and his life. Anyone else would probably already be dead by this point. In the end, all I could say was, "Trust your instincts, Heero. If something inside is telling you not to kill her, then you should probably listen."

Heero looked away then, out of the small dorm window, and only spoke after a heavy moment of silence, "An old mentor of mine said the very same thing."

I shrugged, feeling a little over my head, and my hands gestured meaninglessly as I tried to offer a little street wisdom. "Yeah, well, you know. None of this shit makes any sense anyway, so reason barely helps. Gotta go with your gut."

Heero kept his gaze trained on the scene beyond the window for almost a full minute after that, then he twisted around to lay down on his bed. I think he was asleep almost instantly, despite being fully clothed and still wearing his boots.

The mission, of course, turned into just another opportunity for Heero Yuy to show off his superhuman abilities and inhuman determination – inspiring both admiration and jealousy in yours truly.

I look back on those early encounters with 01 fondly though. Missions up to that point had been almost ridiculously easy, as no effective defensive had yet been organized, so working/competing with the only other Gundam pilot was a welcome challenge. Back in the early days of the war, it felt like a game; before I realized how ugly, and dirty, it was all going to become. Heero and I played each other and off each other, in a deadly series of matches that brought our enemies crumbling, but left little resolved between us. Heero almost certainly viewed me as a nuisance, but I had definitely begun to think of him as a brother-in-arms.

It was no more of a violent mess, I suppose, than when the other Gundam pilots met each other. If it wasn't for Quatre's recessive gene for humanity, the five of us probably would've ended up blowing each other up. Quatre Winner, 04, sole son of the influential Winner empire, was the only one of us with any true social and communication skills, and I liked him immediately, despite our radically different backgrounds.

I went into hiding with him at one point, relatively early in the war, and made myself a lifelong friend. In an unexpected and terrible twist of fate, Heero proved that he was not perfect by getting trapped and tricked into assassinating the Alliance's leadership, and then self-destructing in Wing in defeat. Reeling from shock and the first tinglings of fear, I followed Quatre to hide in the desolate safety of Earth's greastest desert. It was hard to accept the preceding days' events, and we took advantage of several opportunities to engage in long talks, mostly about the current state of the war, but also about our Gundams and the other pilots, especially the supposedly dead Heero Yuy.

"I can't believe this shit with Kushrenada and Marquise. They're just going to take over Earth?" My question was redundant, and my voice rich with skepticism; despite having been a witness to the effective end of the Alliance at Wing's hands, the speed at which the battlefield had changed was a somewhat unnerving. The original mission parameters were shot to hell, and now I was forced to improvise... only I hadn't the faintest I idea what to do, and only an inkling of where to start. I vastly preferred the murdering and mayhem part of the job description.

Quatre was staring at the wall-mounted vid screen with open-mouthed disbelief, something that I had witnessed several times over the last few days as we watched OZ annex government after government. It felt almost cowardly to be laying low in Quatre's desert stronghold.

"Gods, how did this happen?" he asked mournfully, dropping his head into his hands where he sat on a crate (his stronghold was more of a highly fortified storage facility). After a long pause, he continued, "I just don't understand, and I was watching enemy movements so closely! It's hard to believe that this wasn't foreseeable. Preventable."

I really didn't know what to say; sure, Professor G had given me some background on my targets, but my understanding of the political sphere was rather limited and I was accustomed to the bafflement. I wasn't as disturbed as Quatre by this bizarre turn of events, and all I could offer was my usual callous reliance on the harsh lesson of my childhood, "Too late to worry about it now, we'll probably never know exactly what happened. All we can do is put them down like we were gonna put down the Alliance. It's mostly the same people, just a different name."

"I suppose so," Quatre agreed unconvincingly, though we had considered the idea before. After a long, longing glance at his Gundam, Sandrock, he finally continued, "I just feel like we're missing something important... and I can't stop thinking about Heero."

Me neither, actually. My feelings were a jumble of admiration, irritation, and surprisingly deep regret that I had not gotten to know our fallen soldier better. I couldn't deny that there was something appealing about him, about the way he had lived and died. "He really believed in the mission, I'll give him that."

Quatre snorted slightly at the understatement, then looked mortified that he had laughed at the dead. Bowing his head once again, he said solemnly, "We need all the allies we can get, considering the poor direction of recent affairs. He would have made an invaluable ally."

I nodded absently in agreement, wistfully reminiscing over my own interactions with him... my unsolicited and unappreciated offerings of peace... Heero had never wanted to be anyone's ally.

I could feel my mind drifting towards abstraction, so I pulled myself roughly back to reality. "It doesn't matter," I said harshly, jumping to my feet only to begin pacing. "01's dead. The mission's fucked. We're here hiding, but really it's only a matter of time before they find us..."

Quatre's eyes widened conspicuously, though that was not the sign of weakness that it was in other people. "Perhaps, but we have a long time yet. Any incursion will give plenty of warning, and we need to assess the situation on Earth before–"

I shook my head immediately, and decided to voice the plans that were congealing in my own mind. I glared at him meaningfully and said, "I'm not staying here. This new enemy, they've taken to space, and threatened the colonies. It is time for me to return home, to defend my people."

Quatre stared at me for a long moment with that unreadable, understanding expression of his, like he was reading your soul or something, then he nodded reluctantly.

Much excitement followed, none of it in space yet, but as fast-paced and action-packed as always. The history books mostly have it right. OZ tried to blow us to smithereens, but the Maganac Corps saved us, then Quatre saved _me_. In the end though, a Gundam soldier is always alone. . .

!

Before too long I was in space again, my medium, but it was no longer the comfortable environment I remembered. OZ suits patrolled every place that a person would conceivably want to go, and after sneaking under their radar for several weeks, they eventually tracked me to a friendly transport ship I was using to take Deathscythe between the colonies. It was inevitable that I would get caught, really, as Shinigami kept busy and felt little need to be careful.

When it finally came, the ambush was well executed. A swarm of mobile suits came upon on my transport ship with surprising speed, and Deathscythe was barely out of bay doors before they were pursuing me from multiple directions. The first few were easy enough to take care of, but then I was fighting them back en mass, and increasingly aware of the desperation of my situation. Enemy after enemy fell before my Scythe, but they got perilously closer with each new offensive, numbers soon overwhelming my natural speed. Again and again I swung with deadly accuracy, until a lucky blow made it through my defenses and hit Deathscythe like a ton of bricks. The Gundam was thrown back heavily, with a blow so hard that my head smashed against the loosened cockpit paneling. Deathscythe was suddenly spirally out of control, minus a very important limb.

With OZ hot on my heals and power failing, I thought that death was imminent, but all that flashed through my mind was Heero. The situation was desperate, and I wanted to know, what would 01 do? Given that Heero had so recently self-detonated, I maintain that that is exactly what he would have done in this context as well. It was imperative that my Gundam not fall into enemy hands. I only considered my options for a couple heart beats, then my palm slammed down on the self-destruct button –

Nothing at all happened.

Only then did I begin to feel the edge of real panic, though I flooded it out with a Shinigami's anger. "Fucking Hell! Only L2 mechs could be such incompetent fuckheads! Can't even self-destruct right! You deserve to rot on that shithole!"

My extremities were beginning to numb, and blood was running heavily down both cheeks, obscuring my vision as much as the black splotches of eminent unconsciousness. It was easy to ignore my physical pain, but I was grappling with the reality that OZ may capture Deathscythe, and I was suddenly all the way back to the basics: never allow yourself to fall into enemy hands.

I grappled for the now familiar handgun strapped to my hip, taking too long to free it from its holster and raise it to my temple. Deathscythe lurched violently, slamming my oozing skull wound against the dislodged panel, and then everything went black –

I came to in a small, brightly lit room, tied securely to a solid chair. I startled to consciousness when a shot of adrenaline was administered intravenously – never a good a way to wake up. The first thing I saw was the ugly mug of an OZ soldier, then behind him another uniform.

They took me through a typical interrogation sequence: threats and intimidation, followed closely by token violence; then, emboldened by the latter and annoyed by the lack of response on my part, the real carnage began. Within a couple hours, the OZ barbarians had already worked through their entire repertoire of torture. They were down right boring in their beatings, gave up too quickly on electrocution and cutting, and didn't have the subtlety to pull off any of the suffocation techniques. Too soon I was a beaten, bloody mess on the verge of losing consciousness, an infuriating smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. After all, I was in the hands of amateurs who didn't even have enough sense to keep their prisoner awake long enough to spill the beans.

I woke up in a cold cell, who knows how long later. I was heavily bruised and felt generally achy, an after-effect of the electrocution, but surprisingly whole. A tourniquet had been tied around my head, covering the earlier wound and a later injury that I remember soaking my face in blood and turning my vision a blurry red. My head hurt like a bitch actually, and I felt a unique nausea that suggested the presence of a mild concussion, but it didn't feel like anything to seriously hinder performance. Another tourniquet was wrapped tightly around my thigh, so I forced myself to stand and was relieved that my leg held my weight, if weakly. It rather reinforced my perception that my captors were amateurs. They were probably decent soldiers, but the art of torture required a… special kind of artist. It spoke volumes that I didn't seem to have any major broken bones or severed body parts.

Still, given my identity, it was only a matter of time before I was passed up the chain of command, into the hands of those with greater resources and fewer reservations. If I was to have any hope, I would have to make my escape now. Or terminate.

A shiver of adrenaline ran through me and I shifted seamlessly into Shinigami. I moved towards the door and meticulously ran my fingers along the frame. It was too dark to really see, but I could tell that the door was solidly constructed. I peaked through the tiny window and could make out the back of a soldier. I then turned my attention to the rest of the cell, checking every square foot, but there was nothing but cool cement and a solitary bucket.

Fuck, this did not look good. I could probably manage to strangle myself with my braid, but that morbid death was beginning to look like the only way out of the current mess. Dashing my brains out on the concrete was not a particularly appealing alternative. Alas, I have always been too arrogant for my own good. I wouldn't strangle myself because I assumed that I could create some kind of opportunity – either to escape or to drag a few others with me to hell.

A couple hours later, higher command did show up, and I had little to show for my recuperation time. Still, I hardly expected the dubious honor of...

"General Tye," I slurred between swollen lips, recognizing him from the case file pic. He stood just inside the door, flanked by two burly wingmen.

"Duo Maxwell." He stared at me, if the ball was in my court again, but I just stared sullenly at him, leaning against the far concrete wall. "My men tell me that you have not been very cooperative."

"Ha!" Shinigami barked harshly, obstinately. "Your men have not been very persuasive."

The General smiled creepily at me before turning to one of the guards with an outstretched hand. "If you don't mind."

The OZ soldier handed over his baton, then Tye used his free hand to gesture their departure. The door shut heavily behind them, and then locked loudly. The General turned around and fixed his gaze on me again, and for the first time I began to actually feel afraid. His look was calculating and predatory, and echoed hauntingly of monsters from my past. Shinigami reared up and I darted along the wall, trying to circle my opponent. There wasn't much space, and Tye's long strides quickly brought him within striking distance. He swung the baton at me, which I dodged easily, but the bastard was fast enough to follow up with a kick. I danced away, but still it caught me painfully in the shins. The fast movement only emphasized the strain my body was under; whatever I hoped to accomplished, it would have to be quick.

The General swung again, and this time I twisted closer, using all my momentum and body weight to drive my fists into the tall man's gut. He stumbled back, but his arm shot out and grabbed me by my throat. He stumbled sideways, dragging me with him, and we both crashed against the wall. I struggled to get out of his grip, but he pushed his considerable size advantage against me, pinning me to the hard wall. I tried to kick out, but I couldn't get enough room to do any damage and it certainly didn't shake the constricting grip on my windpipe. Black spots began appearing in my vision and my legs became like jelly, but still I stubbornly tried to grapple with the taller man.

Finally the hold disappeared as I sunk to the ground, but before I could even begin to recover, a couple well-aimed kicks to the gut made breathing almost impossible. I curled in on myself to protect my soft parts, only to feel the man's hands grabbing at my pants. For long seconds I was just relieved not to be kicked again, still struggling for breath, before I even realized what was actually happening. Terror gave me a new energy, and I began thrashing and screaming obscenities, which only earned me another shower of brutal blows. Then my pants were gone and Tye hauled me up by my shirt and slammed me head-first into corner of the concrete room.

((WARNING: GRAPHIC TORTURE/RAPE SCENE! SCROLL DOWN TO NEXT ALL CAPS LINE TO SKIP.))

The General was on top of me again in a second, and proximity to the wall forced me up on my knees. My arms struggled to push up, but Tye's weight behind me smashed my face and shoulders to the concrete, and I could feel his erection solidly pressing against my ass.

"You think you're a priest, boy?" he bellowed, echoing to my perception as though over the loudspeaker.

Hysteria released a string of curses from my lips, and fueled my efforts at thrashing further, but I was thoroughly immobilized and all it did was spur on my hyperventilation. The General's hands gripped my hips painfully, pulling and pushing at me so that his thick erection poked roughly at my asshole. I tried desperately then to switch gears, mentally screaming to myself that I could take this and survive this, that I needed to relax to minimize the damage, that this wasn't the end of the world...

But then the thing tore into me, and agony banished all thoughts. His momentum slammed my face against the concrete, and blood sprayed from my nose and lips. And yet the pain in my neck and head could not overshadow the pain stabbing inside me – against fierce resistance. Tye paused for a moment before forcing himself impossibly farther, until he was fully seated inside me. I could feel his thighs against mine, his body against my ass, even as my mouth smeared bile on the concrete.

"You will find that I do not tolerate disrespect," he whispered lethally, bending over so his wet lips could brush my earlobe. "Especially not from some godless L2 whore."

I released a weak, breathless whimper before he pulled out and plowed in again. This time the resistance gave, and I managed a strangled scream as I felt my insides rip apart. Desperation and panic overwhelmed me, and I was suffocating so bad that the vicious pounding into my wounded hole would soon be the lesser of my concern. I clawed at the stone floor, ripping and breaking fingernails, and tried to draw out Shinigami, but he –

He actually shrunk away from me in my darkest hour of greatest need. In my depthless despondence, I had one unwelcome revelation: Shinigami fought on behalf of my vengence, but he did not bear my pain. Only Duo would bear the consequences of our actions, and it was only Duo in this room being violated, trapped between concrete and cock, just trying to git and bear and somehow survive. Isn't that what Duo did best?

With the blood acting as a lubricant, and the concrete cage for leverage, Tye was able to speed up considerably, using his hands on my hips to impale my body on his quick thrusts. I focused on the pain in my neck and face and head, trying desperately to convince myself that what was happening below the vital organs was less of a concern. It was just pain, new and particularly horrific but not even the worst of my life. Of course, at the time Duo thought it would last forever, but in real time it couldn't have been more than a few minutes before the man's thrusts grew erratic and then he shot his burning spunk into my ass. Duo had no breath to voice a scream, just gurgled blood pathetically and made a boneless attempt to draw away.

The General laughed, but I only heard it distantly beyond the rushing of my own blood in my ears. A familiar, self-protective numbness began to settle in, detaching me from the sensations of Tye pulling out of me and blood streaming down my thighs. He rammed my face into the wall one last time for good measure, then stood, finally giving me enough space to collapse. I closed my eyes, but could feel his breath near my ear when he next spoke.

"I'm going to give you twelve hours to think about your predicament," he said with honey calm. "Then you can either answer my questions, or I'll use this baton next."

The baton pushed roughly between my ass cheeks, and it was so large that terror broke through my burgeoning numbness. "No," Duo croaked between split lips, again trying to draw away.

Tye chuckled, but withdrew the threatening weapon. "Unfortunately, I really do have some _important _business to attend to. Twelve hours, terrorist trash."

((END OF GRAPHIC TORTURE SCENE. GRAPHIC MEDICAL SCENE TO COME.))

Still I didn't open my eyes, listening to the sound of the General knocking on the door, the lock of the door behind him. I finally forced my body to peel away from the concrete wall, carefully stretching out on the cold floor. It was easier to regulate my breathing in the dark, and my compacted spine immediately began feeling better. I was even able to muster a little relief at being alive.

But one thought of the baton, and I knew that I had to consider the braid auto-asphyxiation scenario more seriously. For a long time, it was all I could do to stay calm and ignore the pain of my surely broken nose, and to not even acknowledge the abusing ache between my legs. Only when the cold began racking my body with tremors did I force my eyes open. Looking at the corner of the room, I could see my blood smeared on the concrete; turning my head away jerkily, I could make out my pants and boxers strewn on the floor. Every muscle screamed objection, but I forced myself onto my hands and knees and crawled towards my clothes. The bleeding had subsided somewhat when I had lain still, but it started again when I moved.

"I can't believe this shit," I murmured hoarsely to myself. How had I protected myself for so long, only to be violated like this at this late date? I had failed myself, had become another L2 stereotype, the saddest of victims. A lump lodged painfully in my already swollen throat, but I pushed on instead of giving in to the urge to cry. I grabbed my boxers and used them to frantically wipe at my thighs and ass. The bleeding still hadn't stopped, and I was too upset to do a good cleanup, so in the end I rolled up the boxers and stuffed them between my ass cheeks. I struggled to regulate the pain and keep my breathing even, but suspected that I was hyperventilating nonetheless. I finally wrestled my black pants back on, and it made me feel a lot better, as if the symbolic garments were somehow holding together my damaged body.

Only then did I turn to the mess of my face; I almost didn't bother, but decided that I couldn't seriously contemplate suicide why in such physical distress. Resetting the nose was relatively easy and quick, for an agonizing moment, while staunching and cleaning the blood took seemingly forever. Keeping busy had kept me alive, but now there was nothing left to do but evaluate my prospects and formulate a plan.

Prospects did not look good.

I reached behind my head and gently took hold on my thick braid, then ran my fingers along its length until its tip was pinched between my fingers. I stared at it sadly for a moment, almost lovingly, before reluctantly wrapping it around my neck. The trick would be not releasing tension in the braid when I lost consciousness, but I had long ago worked out how the knot to accomplish that. But still I hesitated. It had felt easier when the bringer of death was a self-destruct button or the trigger of a gun. This was morbid, and I felt more like a suicide than a martyr.

I tried thinking about my duty to the Colonies, about not allowing myself to fall into enemy hands, about what Heero Yuy would do in such a situation. When that didn't work I tried to think about had just happened to me and what the General had threatened, but my mind's natural defenses were already kicking in, repeatedly distracted me with desperate scenarios of escape. My thoughts were so slippery and spinning that I resolved to calm myself and clear my mind before killing myself. After all, if I did this wrong I would fail and just pass out again. Or was I just making excuses?

That is how the definitely not dead Heero found me, propped up brokenly against the cold wall across from the door and clutching at Sister Helen's cross. It didn't even occur to me to wonder how Heero Yuy had appeared suddenly in my OZ cell, or to question if I was hallucinating. I simply told him to kill me, barely expecting such a mercy, and was rather surprised to have my greeting returned with a cocked Magnum.

"You're really going to shoot me, aren't you?" I asked in wonder, suddenly overwhelmed with relief. I had been brought down so low today that a mercy killing at the hand of a friend seemed like the best ending to this nightmare. This was a death fitting for a body that had hosted Shinigami's power, and I felt an unexpected contentment. Like I was finally coming home to rest.

But as I gazed zombie-like into the eyes of my salvation, I could see the cogs moving in his brain, and had spent enough time around him to realize what he was thinking. His time away from Doctor J's direct influence was opening up Heero's eyes to the advantages of acting human, I think. My stomach plummeted nauseatingly (in disappointment?), but Shinigami's traitorous spirit suddenly sparked to life. When Heero lowered his gun, and instead wrapped his arm under my armpits as I had once done for him, the God of Death was ready. I gripped his shoulder hard enough to bruise, hauled myself to my feet, and then forced myself to move. Heero opened the door, propped me against the door frame while he dragged the guard's body inside, then we were running for our lives.

Compared to the slow torture of earlier, the entire escape rushed by so quickly that I can barely remember the details. Heero had everything figured out, I just had to keep myself together and moving. I stumbled repeatedly, but Heero never released his vice grip on my bruised ribs, and his steps never faltered. He got me away from the nightmare, to somewhere safe, explosions echoing in my ears all the way...

"Strip," Heero ordered as soon as we made it to a safe house on the nearest colony.

"No fucking way," I responded immediately, heading straight for the bunk. "I'm going to sleep for the next couple days."

I could hear the frown in his voice when he responded, "You need to be assessed for injuries. And you are covered in blood."

I carefully laid my aching body down on the bed and closed my eyes immediately. "I've already done all the assessing I need. A couple cracked ribs, a broken nose that I've already set, a mild concussion, and few flesh wounds that are bandaged and not currently bleeding."

"You shouldn't sleep if you have a concussion." His voice was uncomfortably close and clinical, and my eyes flew open to see him standing ominously over me.

Assuming that I had received the concussion during Deathscythe's capture, my observation period was long past. Still, there was no doubt that I was filthy, and I hardly felt like sleeping with him so close anyway, not with my heart racing this fast. Actually, I kinda felt like he could see right through me, and suddenly I was acutely aware of my boxers wedged between my legs. I rolled over and abruptly got to my feet, despite the ache in my bowels and ribs that came with major movement. Without ever meeting Heero's eye, I slinked away from him and towards the bathroom. "You're probably right. I'll just go clean up and change my bandages. But then I get to sleep, okay? This torture shit really takes it outta you."

Heero's gaze followed me into the bathroom, but luckily seeing through walls was not one of his superpowers. I steeled myself as best I could, emulating Shinigami at his best, though of course I was again alone in my weakness. I shed my black clothes quickly and mechanically, then I stepped into the shower and used the soap to shed several layers of sweat and dried blood, carefully keeping my hair out of the spray. It certainly needed a clean, but I was not up for its care right now. After one of the shortest showers of my life, I was half heartedly drying within minutes. Opening the first aid kit, I used peroxide to clean my flesh wounds, then meticulously taped up the gashes in my head and leg; a tight wrap around my torso took care of my cracked ribs, as did some supportive tape over the bridge of my nose. Then for a couple minutes I stood staring forlornly at the ointment tube that I held in my hand.

I was having difficulty taking the next step, as my mind warred between the pros and cons of reality versus denial. I knew that my internal damage could kill me if not properly treated. The first-aid kit provided antibacterial and regenerating medicines, but if I needed surgery then I would have to go to a hospital. Still, the bleeding had mostly stopped, and I dared hope that the medical ointment would be enough. I made myself breathe deeply for a couple long minutes before taking action.

I smeared the ointment on two fingers, then bent in front of the mirror, with my free hand bracing the sink. I tried to be careful, but my arm was shaking so hard with stress and pain that I ended up just jamming the fingers into my wounded asshole. I yelped loudly, and black blotches appeared in my spinning vision. I barely realized I was falling before I hit the tiles, my knees and elbows knocking loudly against the sink and floor, and pain exploding through my body even as I curled instinctively into fetal position.

Heero burst into the bathroom almost immediately, and stood over me glowering. "What happened?"

The last thing I wanted was for Heero to learn of the shameful attack on my person, but embarrassment was a poor excuse for fucking up further. I was dedicated to the colonies, I told myself, and that dedication dictated what needed to be done. It was no problem, really, to sacrifice any chance at Heero's respect in favor of living to fight for the colonies. Still, my tight grip on sanity was definitely slipping, because as I straightened my limbs I heard Duo joke weakly, "Apparently, there are limits to self abuse."

Heero's frown deepened, and I swear I saw concern in his expression. I must've made quite a pathetic picture, lying mostly naked and deeply bruised on the bathroom floor, making smart-ass remarks about the ugly damage. "What do you need me to do?" he asked after a searching pause.

I was in full-on autopilot mode, because it wasn't me that held up my fist; _my_ fingers held the regenerative ointment in a death grip. Heero reached for the tube and had to pry it out of them, his scowl growing noticeably. "Duo," he spoke openly, and it was the first time I can ever remember him calling me by my name. "Where do you need this applied?"

Like an out-of-body experience, I felt my mouth twist into a sick smirk and heard Duo again try for flippant, "Can we move this to a bed?"

It was lost on 01, but it was more of a reflexive action on my part anyway. Heero offered his hand to help me up, which I took, then quickly released to limp reluctantly towards the bed. Careful of my ribs, I lay stomach-down on the mattress, turned my face towards the wall, and closed my eyes tight. Forcing myself not to feel a _goddamn_ thing, I managed a deep breath, then let the awful truth out, just this once, "I was raped, and there was... a lot of blood. But with a little luck, maybe I can escape this ordeal without a hospital visit."

Heero was eerily, if typically silent. The mattress dipped when he sat next to me, and I held my body still against the onslaught of twitchy impulses. My ears picked out the sound of him unscrewing the cap, and squirting the goo onto his fingers. By the time he parted my cheeks and brought his fingers to my anus, every muscle was solid as a rock and I was just barely restraining a berserker fit. I was biting my lip so hard that it had started bleeding again.

On the brink of inducing hysteria, the blunt fingers withdrew, and instead a hand came to rest hesitantly on my shoulder. Heero spoke with calm and reason, "You have to relax, Duo, or this'll hurt only more."

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and forced myself to keep breathing through tight lungs. I managed to unclench a few muscles, but the idea of relaxing was ridiculous. Heero's clean hand moved to rest comfortingly on my hip, but his fingers were back at my abused entrance within moments, and it was impossible not to tense up.

"Relax," he repeated, softly, and two slippery fingers began to gently massage my clenched, swollen orifice. It hurt, everything down there hurt, but the strained muscle gave in with a little persistence.

"Ahhh!" Duo cried out wretchedly, as he had not been able to before, but I choked it down quickly and was instantly ashamed of my weakness. The ointment was supposed to contain a light anesthetic, but the feel of Heero's fingers in my wound was still an appalling agony and a profound humiliation. I did a pretty good job of not moving, but I couldn't control the odd spasm as he slowly pushed into me.

"Breathe. This will only take a moment." His voice was surprisingly soothing, and I made myself inhale and exhale methodically. The extra air made me a little dizzy, but helped me pull away from my body a little. Heero prodded my insides for a few seconds, finally provoking another hiss of pain when he withdrew his fingers. "There. I think you'll be alright."

My every tense muscle collapsed so completely and instantly that my head spun, like fainting without the blacking out. I melted bonelessly into the mattress, my mind and body giving in to absolute physical and emotional exhaustion.

"Thanks, Hee-chan," I slurred, burrowing my face into the rough material as though to escape this life all together. A few seconds later I felt a blanket being pulled over me, then I let myself slip off to sleep...

... I woke to the smell of hot food, mysteriously dressed in dark blue sweats. When I opened my eyes completely, Heero was about a meter away, holding a bowl towards my face. I blinked owlishly, completely unprepared to confront such bizarre and unprecedented behavior upon first waking. "Uh... what are you doing?"

Heero continued to hold out his offering, studying me critically. "Startling you did not seem like a wise way of waking you."

I smirked weakly, finally drawing upon the wherewithal to reach out for the proffered bowl. "You can say that again. I'da probably tried to take your head off... Thanks."

Never one to turn down free food, I took a sip of the hot soup, and was quite pleased with its hearty thickness. Concentrating on each spoonful made it relatively easy to think _around_ recent memories – like making space for unacknowledged ghosts.

"You'll need to stick to a liquid diet for the next few days, and take antibiotics," Heero stated cautiously, as if unsure of my reaction. I was familiar with the procedures for this kind of medical care, so I nodded, though I suddenly didn't have the stomach for eye contact. Heero was a witness to my complete degradation; I had lost my Gundam and my dignity, and then, in the end, had failed even in the simple task of offing myself.

My mostly negative emotions swelled in me and I had to give voice to something, but I couldn't expose Heero to the unplumbed depths of my suffering. My eyes trained on the bowl warming my hands, and I tried instead to focus my emotions on my small puddle of gratitude. "I want to thank you, 01. For saving me, for being willing to finish me if necessary. I never imagined that anyone would come for me… and I'm sorry you had to. I'll repay you, if you ever need my help."

I didn't raise my eyes, but I could tell that Heero was still staring at me. "I couldn't let what you know fall into enemy hands. And I didn't kill you because you're an asset to protecting the colonies, a good fighter. There is no need for thanks, or for repayment. You yourself assisted in my escape from the Alliance."

Only then did I look up at him, and we shared a long, weighted moment. I think we both wanted to say more, but the fact that he had woken me from a healing rest meant that he had some pressing matter. Sure enough, after several strained seconds he spoke, as gently as was probably possible for him, "I need to go. Can you take care of yourself?"

I rolled my eyes and grinned at him, giving my most convincing, "Of course! I'll rest up for a couple days, then I oughtta be up for leaving the hideout."

Heero frowned skeptically. It would certainly take longer than a couple days to get back into peak condition, and he must've known it. "I've enrolled you in a nearby boarding school, under my name. It would probably be safest if you stayed there while you heal."

Heero didn't ask me what I would do after that, nor did I question him on his plans, though I think we both wanted to. War had turned all five of us child soldiers into quasi-sociopathic killing machines, and there was no questioning that, so what we wanted didn't really matter. Heero left the safehouse within the hour, and two days later it was once again nothing more than an abandoned building in the warehouse district.

I was a different person in the wake of my victimization, and I definitely needed the weeks I spent at the harmless boarding school. It was nothing like the Maxwell Church Orphanage, but I found myself pretending that it was. I tagged along with my new classmates, a shadow of my former self, but much more comfortable out of the spotlight. I imagined that I was Mandela or Shaka or one of the other adopted orphans, and it was the exact crutch I needed to get away from myself... and from the jittery fear that exhausted the waking hours, and from the nightmares that dispelled any rest from my sleep. The only comfort was my single room, in which I could hide my condition and recover in private. I got some attention because I had transferred in halfway through the school year, but that also made it easier to be a stranger. I eventually left Earth for L1 when I felt well enough to travel.

Outside my isolating shell, the war continued to mutate so rapidly that the original mission and battlefield were no longer recognizable; but I wasn't nearly so eager to carve out a role for myself in the mayhem. For the moment it seemed as though my role in the war was over, and the part of me that was tired of hurting was glad. Almost as big a blow as the rape was the public destruction of Deathscythe shortly thereafter, which I watched anonymously from the crowded colonial streets below. I was certain then that my place in the war was gone and done, for I had failed completely; not only had I gotten caught and tortured, I had permitted my Gundam to be captured and destroyed! I was nothing without Deathscythe. Without Deathscythe, Shinigami was trapped in a human body, and the human body was only good for feeling pain…

Revenge just wasn't igniting the same fire as it used to, and now it couldn't even melt Duo's fear of continued suffering. By now I had shuttled from L1 to L2, my first time home since I had stowed away with the Sweepers. I didn't leave Mainport though, unwilling to get too close to buried memories. Plagued already by nightmares and flashbacks, I retreated into the shadows of the street, to hide for a while in plain view.

!

Beyond a doubt, Hilde Schbeiker is one hell of a chick. Obnoxiously pushy and foolishly brave, sure, but also super hot and totally in love with me. I was certainly in no condition to return her feelings, but she did help resuscitate my eviscerated pride – and, in the process, my personal interest in current events. There I was, relatively content to nurse my significant wounds for the remainder of the war, when this militant babe comes up to me and tries to convince me to sign on with OZ! She even had a spiel on how working with OZ was advantageous to the colonies and their future! I all but laughed in her pretty face, but I think she liked the challenge because she tried really hard to convince me.

She was, of course, just another victim of OZ's 'public relations' campaign, but it did give me a spectacular, disturbingly feasible idea for getting back into the fray. I was disappointed in myself for being both exhilarated and unenthused by this opportunity, so unlike my old self, though my choice was unwavering nonetheless. Once I had reasonable opportunity to take on the enemy, whoever that may be, it was my _duty_ to act, and thereby protect the colonies. Right? I had never been big on the conventional sense of duty, but in the absence of vengeful passion, this compulsive sense of responsibility did step up to the plate. Perhaps it was a duty spawned from loyalty to dead, but it forced action just as surely as anger.

Reluctantly disregarding the sense of foreboding that colored all my recent thoughts of the war, I embarked on a cockeyed scheme to infiltrate OZ. Looking back, I know I was needlessly reckless, but that's a recurring theme. I felt a new fearlessness now; it was not Shinigami's confidence, but Duo's underlying assurance that nothing worse could happen to us. All I wanted to do was get in, kick some ass, and get this shit over with. In my haste I slipped undercover at the nearest OZ outpost, where I had the misfortune of again running into that trouble magnet Hilde Schbeiker. To make a long story short, I made a break for it, jacking a Leo and jetting off the colony. Hilde tried to blast me out of space, then I saved her sorry ass from OZ crossfire, only to get captured again. I was running on pure fumes, and yet the part of me that usually shot off panic signals was oddly silent. Duo was oddly un-invested in these wild happenings.

Hilde, meanwhile, was apparently everywhere, even in the transport shuttle that I was handcuffed to. I schooled my features, and let my big mouth fly. "I'm fighting to get back the smiles that the colonists lost," I blurted. "But I get back to the colonies and guess what? The people don't want their smiles back. Tell me something. How did the colonies become so twisted?"

I thought my words were ill formed, but they must've hit some target because Hilde suddenly pulled her gun on me. Relief flooded through my veins and I froze, shocked by the strong, alien urge to place my forehead to the gun's barrel… or to fellate it as I had done years ago. It was only then that I truly recognized my condition; and I wasn't fit to be fighting for anything. In my line of business, there is no room for sublimated self-sabotage or delusional thinking. I was a danger to everyone, and would be safer dead...

"I'm not afraid to die," I threw out defiantly, wavering off balance between Shinigami's desperate frustration and Duo's indifferent depression.

I held her gaze for a long moment before she lowered her gun and turned away to hide her softening expression, then left the room. Like a cockroach from Hell, I took no time in again breaking out of captivity and high-jacking another Leo, marveling all the while at the complete idiocy of OZ, that a half-crazed fifteen-year-old street rat could repeatedly evade them. Maybe I really would have to put myself out of commission, if only there weren't so many enemy targets to distract me!

I purposely crash landed on a nearby moon and was about to be gunned down by pursuing Tauruses when Hilde's mobile suit swept in and destroyed them. I couldn't help a smirk then; I had suspected before, but this was proof that she liked me! I thanked her, and convinced her to retreat to safety... while I sneaked onto the OZ lunar base nearby.

Super sneaky me, I stumbled right into the Professors' secret hanger, where I could see Deathscythe and Shenlong being rebuilt, then took a beating to prevent their exposure. Once again, I ended up behind bars, where I was truly shocked but pleased to recognize Wufei and Heero. And then Trowa showed up dressed as an OZ soldier! For a moment I thought I was hallucinating, but I've had enough hallucinations in my life to tell when I'm _not_ having one.

We survived and escaped, as always. It had only been a matter of time anyway; with four Gundam pilots in close vicinity of each other, total mayhem and havoc was inevitable. And like the cursed horsemen of the apocalypse, we emerged from the explosions and rubble not only alive, but sporting shiny new Gundams as well.

I fled into space with the still unfinished Deathscythe, then met back up with Hilde, who let me hide out at a large salvage yard that her father owned as a side business. It was easy to take cover there and complete my new baby's systems, and a pleasure to reconnect with a Gundam like I never thought would be possible again. Unfortunately, it also grew impossible to avoid Hilde's romantic advances, which only seemed to escalate by the day. I worked long hours on Deathscythe, and tried to talk down all overtures, but was otherwise defenseless against the force of nature that was Hilde Schbeiker.

"Duo, Duo, Duo, Duo. Duuuuuuuuuo. Duo, Duo, Duuuo. Duoduoduo. Duo," Hilde harangued for minutes on end, reminding me of my own embarrassing behavior towards Thor. She had climbed up on Deathscythe to lure me away from repairs, but was so stubborn that a good half hour later she was lying on the small plank of scaffolding, just being obnoxious. In her defense though, it was close to midnight, and she did not yet know that my nightmare-induced insomnia let me work way into the next day, and even longer if necessary.

At the moment I was perched somewhat precariously on Deathscythe's soldier, working on the upper faceplate sensors. I had my own gift for gab, but Hilde was an outright blabbermouth. I brushed a sweaty strand of hair from my eyes and sighed, my mouth responding with automatic banter, "At that rate, sweetie, I'm gonna start charging."

"We should go out undercover. I'm sick of being cooped up all the time," she pouted.

She made this suggestion just about every other day, more out of boredom than a genuine belief that it was a good idea. I had made it very clear to her, and myself, that I was going to be cautious and meticulous this time around, and that I had fucked up too many times already. Professor G would've throttled me.

"Yeah, right. Your big mouth would blow your cover every time," I sniped distractedly, eyeballing an off-center washer.

"That was mean," she returned effortlessly, not sounding a bit offended. "Don't bite the hand that feeds."

Our banter reminded me of my time with the Sweepers. If I succeeded at talking to a hot chick, would I be expected to follow through romantically? The thought was unsetting, so I tackled the washer enthusiastically with my wrench and grumbled, "You don't feed me half enough."

"It's no small feat to fill that bottomless pit that is your stomach," came her inescapable voice.

_That_ remark was, unfortunately, right on target. I yanked the washer loose and repositioned the screw, conscious that I felt a little peckish at that very moment. Stupid stomach.

"Well, growing boy and all that rot," I retorted between clenched teeth, using all my strength to tighten the washer.

Hilde didn't answer for a long moment, and when she did she had apparently moved on to a new topic. "Why do you dress like that?"

I was currently stripped down to an undershirt and a pair of black pants, but she was obviously referring to the priest's shirt that I usually wore. Sighing, I backed off the washer for a moment, but purposely avoided looking down at Hilde as I allowed myself to give the shallowest truth possible, "Black doesn't show the blood and dirt so much, does it? And I hardly have the time to be changing clothes all the time."

Hilde digested that for a second before further questioning, "But what about the collar?"

It was strange to be having this conversation without being able to see the other's face, but it made answering so much easier. Tackling the faulty washer for a second time, I practically grunted, "The Church I attended as a kid was very good to me. I fight for them."

Given the weight of the topic, I was surprised to catch the traces of a girly giggle from down below. "You sound sexy when you're exerting effort like that," she ventured, too loudly to really be seductive.

I felt my cheeks warm. I was relieved to be off the previous non sequitur, but still not entirely comfortable with Hilde's increasingly obvious attempts to redefine our relationship. I felt neither emotionally capable of intimacy nor ethically permitted to divert my attention from my duty to the colonies, though I did like the idea of someone finding me attractive. It soothed an old, recently resurrected fear that others could tell; that they could somehow sense that I was freakish and damaged. And Hilde was a _real _woman – slightly older than my meager fifteen years, and a hottie to boot. So what if she was so misguided that she had thought OZ was great, and that she still thought I was boyfriend material?

My fatigue suddenly let itself be known after hours sweating over gundanium, and I really didn't feel up to the challenges of this supercharged repartee. So, like a real sucker for trouble, I climbed down from Deathscythe's shoulder, fully aware that I would have to pass Hilde before I could get to the ground. Sure enough, she was standing when my feet hit the scaffolding and I almost instantly found her face inches from mine. Her eyes flickered to my lips and back up to my eyes.

"You've been avoiding me," she whispered, her breath ghosting cool over the sheen of sweat on my cheeks.

It wasn't technically true, but again I knew what she meant. Had I been leading her on by not outright rejecting her? I was such an asshole for not even knowing what I wanted. What would Shinigami do? The monster had been unusually silent and reticent since my victimization, and the question didn't even compute. What would Heero do? He'd gotten caught up with Relena, but surely he'd never let himself get tangled this way...

"My first responsibility is the freedom of the colonies," I recited weakly, shrugging, and turning my face away in embarrassment.

Hilde pressed forward suddenly, so that I clumsily stumbled back against Deathscythe's leg. She grabbed my cross and used it to gently pull me towards her lips. That it was warm and dry is about all I can say, but it was my first real kiss, and I was just relieved that it was not an unspeakable disaster. Indeed, I spent the entire couple seconds trying not to completely spazz out. When she withdrew an inch, I couldn't help but shiver slightly.

"Oh, come on! It wasn't that bad," she joked, but I could tell that I only had a few seconds before her puzzlement turned into hurt. I needed to give her a reason that had nothing to do with her...

"I'm n-nervous. I've n-never done anything like this before," I forced out, wondering if it was so hard to say because it was a lie. Was it a lie? I felt irrationally guilty and confused, I'd never doubted myself so much in my life. I also felt twitchy, like I was about to flash back to –

I forced my eyes to focus, as Hilde smiled widely, apparently taking my words as approval. She gently aligned her body with mine, her lips coming towards me, and I closed my eyes tightly…

Something wet licked lightly at my lower lip, and I gasped, eyes flying open again. She took full advantage of the situation by slipping her tongue between my lips and making contact with my own tongue. Just when I thought I might start noticeably trembling, she pulled away and studied me for a long moment with a satisfied expression on her face.

"I think you've had all you can take," Hilde smirked kindly, looking as stunning as I did overwhelmed.

And then she turned away and left me alone on the scaffolding, with nothing but turbulent thoughts. I wasn't turned on exactly, but I was strangely satisfied with the whole experience. I hadn't freaked out or passed out or anything too inappropriate, I had acted mostly normal (or so I hoped). I was a little trepidatious of the future, but that just added a little nervous jitter to an excited teenage bubbling. I had kinder feelings towards myself than I had had in a long while.

Turns out, there were more important things to worry about than any romantic future with Hilde. OZ hotshot Trant Clark tracked me down and kidnapped me to pilot his Zero system. This capture shit just got easier to deal with each time it happened, but I cannot emphasize enough how fucked up the Zero system was. It shows you every possible outcome, not just of your combat maneuvers and strategic thinking, but of your gut reactions and personal inclinations. You know the outcome of following the angel's voice, or your baser instincts…

I'm horrified by what Quatre did while using the Zero system, but only someone who has experienced that can really understand the insane thinking that overtakes you. The possibilities are infinite and inevitable at the same time, so wondrous and horrible that I was overwhelmed by the absolute hubris. I remember thinking that this is what it must feel to be Heero, to be able to calculate and execute a strategy perfectly, to see the potential in any situation. But that was just the insane arrogance talking, pretending that this power was perfecting my inner soldier. Instead, I _was_ the demon Shinigami, possessed by all the worst qualities and all the abilities to make them manifest, but no Duo to ground us in humanity. There was no perfect soldiers in sight, just crazed kids on uncontrolled killing sprees...

That is why I can understand how Quatre, the kindest and best of us, could be tricked into destroying a whole colony under the Zero system's influence. As much as I dress up my fractured emotional life as multiple personality disorder, I know that I do not suffer from the actual disorder; but Zero system allows you to see the paths walked by each of your dimensions. That I chose Shinigami's resurrected destruction is no surprise to me, nor that Quatre chose his own neglected knack for demolition.

Trant yanked me back to reality before I could cause 04's level of devastation, ripping me out of the Zero system like being pulled from freezing water. Then he tossed me out an airlock, and I was so disoriented and hopped up on adrenaline that I wasn't even flooded by the usual relief. Death by suffocation in deep space, while fast, is a horrible way to go, but I barely had time to register the thought before Hilde came to the rescue! I had never been so happy to see her stalking, overly-affectionate self in my whole damn life. I was reeling nauseatingly from my recent encounter with Zero system, but I still felt possessed by a particularly manic version of Shinigami, so I took Deathscythe out, like a demon nutbat from Hell, and destroyed that fucker Trant.

Unfortunately, the effects of the Zero system far outlasted the experience itself. My nightmares, already enough to drive me to insomnia, were even more tormented and twisted, distorted memories morphing into disturbing imaginings. I dreamt often that I was back in the Zero system, transformed into something else – sometimes Shinigami, sometimes Heero, and sometimes Duo, always laying waste to everything in my way. If I didn't wake up in a sweat early enough, I was confronted by General Tye, who was still scary as fuck, climbing into Deathscythe, where I was trapped and unable to escape. When I was Shinigami or Duo I wore my face, but when I was Heero I wore his, and the General would lean towards me, flashing into Hilde, and whisper, "Oh come on, it wasn't that bad. . .", then I would wake up half hard and terrified, appalled at my own mind and fighting back tears.

I had refused to masturbate since my victimization, and I think my body had noticed. It kept trying to insert unwelcome wet dreams into my nightmares, which only succeeded in making the latter that much more disturbing. A couple times I had gagged upon waking, and spat up some bile.

Hilde would often find me in the early morning, scowling into a bowl of cereal that had been marinating for a couple hours, and she'd try to cheer me up. It mostly didn't work, but the effort kinda did in a small way. Sometimes I felt like I was floating away from my place in the world, but Hilde always brought me back; she had certainly saved my life enough times. We'd actually come to know each other rather well in all the time we'd spent together.

"Yikes, Duo. Did you sleep at all last night?" she asked, sitting across from me at the little kitchen table, then reaching across to take my hand. Deathscythe had been able to rest in the bowels of this small transport, but I had spent most of time trying to hack into the highest security levels of Romefeller's online network – with limited success.

A grimace was the best I could do in the way of a smile, "A little. . . I was thinking about our next move."

"Yeah, so was I," she said with a sigh, running her free hand through her hair. It was a topic that came up frequently in the absence of a bigger plan. I could only guess what the other pilots were up to, and there was a limit to the effectiveness of a one-man guerrilla war against OZ.

"I think we should go back home," she blurted, referring to one of the safer neighborhoods on L2. "I've been thinking about this a lot, and I have a good plan. I know a couple former OZ soldiers there, real miscreants, but I'll bet they could get us in contact with those rebels from the vids. I still have some of my old contacts there, and could probably access a few new ones. If you can safely get us there, I think I can make it worth our while."

I took a good look at Hilde then, taking in how much she had grown. In only a couple of months, she had gone from naïve OZ newbie to hardened revolutionary who had my back. I was actually pretty impressed with the change.

This time I was able to manage a real smile, easily warming to any excuse to return to one of the colonies. Out in space like we were, with the broadcast news as our only connection to humanity (aside from the rare lead from Professor G), it was hard not to second guess your very perception of the situation. We were so eager to keep hidden that even our refueling missions had avoided any contact with people. "I'm so sick of this transport, just getting off would be worth a little risk."

"Getting off is definitely worthwhile," Hilde returned with a wicked smirk, making sure I registered the predatory gleam in her eye.

"Put your eyeballs back in your pants, young woman!" I joked back, growing more comfortable with her brazen flirtation since she had backed off some. In the wake of the Zero system disaster, I'd been putting on a particularly poor show of hiding how distressed and damaged I was, and I think even the normally thick-skinned Hilde could finally tell that I needed some space. I knew she still wanted me, loved me even, but I respected her more for giving me that distance.

Hilde laughed at my words, then got to her feet. While preparing her own breakfast of eggs, she laid out who and what she knew, and how she would go about arranging a meeting with the local underground. I even knew the neighborhood well enough to remember a secluded and discrete port nearby to dock.

We eventually met with the rebels, who left a kinda mixed impression. They were mostly ex-military punks, thrown out of or denied by OZ for every imaginable reason. They seemed competent enough, but also hinted at dangerous radicalism in their hostility not just towards OZ but towards the people of Earth – not unlike White Fang. Still, the decision to work with them was interrupted when I recognized 03 at the visiting circus show.

I was absolutely shocked, really. I had given into Hilde's pleas with shamelessly little resistance, and had agreed to this quasi-date to the circus. When Trowa's buddies refused to let me near, I knew that I had to get 04. Something was dreadfully wrong with Trowa Barton, and the two gundam pilots were... close. Quatre was a pretty good friend, so of course I _knew_ that he and Trowa were together, but no one ever spoke of it, and I only ever tentatively thought about it. My bones were curious, but my brain could sense the forbidden – and staunchly limited my interaction with this idea.

With a little investigation, I managed to locate 04 on another colony and put him on the right path, all without saying anything that would offend my own delicate sensibilities regarding this matter – though Hilde thought I was crazier than ever. I watched Quatre go after Trowa with a heavy heart, almost not wanting him to go. Trowa deserved every priority, but that didn't stop me from missing Quatre's comforting presence. Did no one notice the gaping hole in my soul? Hilde was great, but I was constantly on my guard with her.

A couple space battles later, I found myself answering a hail from another friend.

"Howard!" I practically squealed, leaning forward in my Gundam's harness so that my nose almost touched the screen. I was so used to losing my parental figures that it was almost like seeing someone come back from the grave.

"Duo," the Captain returned with a chuckle.

"Captain Howard!" I shouted again, my excitement turning me into a complete babbling idiot. "What's going on? Is Sa'ad an-and everyone okay? How-? How'd you get this contact code?"

Howard's rascal grin only stretched wider. "Let's just say that I've gotten myself involved in some activities that you'd be proud of. Got a new sweetheart too, the Peacemillion. You're gonna wet your pants when you see her."

I laughed, and of course could not turn down the offer of shelter when it came. I had thought of the Sweepers surprisingly little since leaving, but with Howard right there, it felt as though I had missed them unknowingly for all this time. Howard hadn't changed a bit, though I was pleasantly surprised to find myself the subject of a new respect. There were only a few men and women from the old Sweepers crew, as most had stayed with the original ship, now with under the captaincy of former second-in-command Manuel Rodriguez. I did take the opportunity though to call Sa'ad and Ally. It felt good to reconnect, even if there was so much that I just couldn't talk about. Ally told me that Shaquita was pregnant and was back on L2, while Sa'ad told me that Thor was still the same, just a little older. It was almost strange to fully realize that these people had continued living after I had left.

Howard wasn't kidding about Peacemillion though, she was a deadly beauty; and he really was deeply involved in the underground activities. I reunited with Trowa, Quatre, and Wufei, and had only the briefest down time before we were off to battle again – this time against OZ and White Fang. Shinigami may have been robbed of his former passion, but he had learned to bring death with unceasing diligence and dedication instead. I was in tune with Deathscythe's every moan and shudder, wielded her arms and legs as they were my own, and flew like some kind of space hawk. I didn't need anger or rage to channel death anymore, I was just a medium through which Death delivered, as calm and unstoppable as yoga.

After the destruction of Barge, we ended up back on Peacemillion again, this time with Heero as well. Of course, things were about to get hairy again, but for a short while we were just five teenage boys, appreciating any relief from the fighting. If only for a night, it was always nice to have a good meal and a safe place to bunk.

Dinner had been a fun affair. I had eaten in the ship's mess hall, with Quatre and Trowa. Quatre had done the bulk of the talking, which was fine by me because I was doing the bulk of the eating. Trowa listened attentively to the blonde drone on about everything from homeopathic medicine to gundanium particle physics, but was obviously distracted by my boisterous eating – which, yes, was an intentional exaggeration of my normally enthusiastic performance (did I say that black also hides food stains?). I had never realized how dull Quatre could be when he was trying to sound sophisticated in front of his beau.

"Oh, come on Duo!" Quatre finally exclaimed, when a chunk of cornbread stuffing flew straight across the table and into his soup with a noticeable splash.

Of course, the whole situation made me laugh loudly with a full mouth, which I covered poorly with my hand. Then Quatre was snickering too, and I swear I even saw that stiff Trowa crack a smile – I could almost see what Quatre saw in him when he looked happy. Only then did I apologize lazily, "So sorry. It's hard not to get carried away with all this free food."

"Remember your limits. We don't want a repeat of dinner with Rashid," Quatre scolded, reminding me of the time that I had eaten so much humus, pita, and baklava that I had ended up puking on Rashid's shoes. Rashid, of course, was the leader of the Maganac Corps and matched me mouthful for mouthful. Not bad . . . even if he had an advantage of over two hundred pounds.

"You're never going to let me live that down, so I'll just have to prove myself," I answered with a smirk, throwing back my braid and taking a flamboyant bite of hotdog.

This time both Trowa and Quatre shook their heads. "You're incorrigible," the latter said with a smile.

That's exactly what I wanted to hear. It made me feel like my old self for a while, and let me leave the mess hall with a rare spring in my step. I entered my assigned cabin with a sense of being at home. I crawled into my cocoon of blankets to revel in the warmth, and for once felt optimistic about sleep, though I hardly felt tired.

Knock knock knock.

It was easy enough for me to jump out of the bunk, pleased with the idea of a guest that wasn't Hilde the Stalker and almost excited at the prospects that lay behind the knock. Howard had taken several opportunities to visit me on Peacemillion, and was a good bet considering that I had just come from Quatre and Trowa.

I touched the keypad and the door slid open – and my eyebrow slid up. He looked the same as always, serious as death and triggered to kill, and all my nerves jumped to attention.

"Heero."

He held my gaze immediately and completely. "Maxwell... Can I come in?"

After a frozen heartbeat, I shifted to life and took a step away from the door. "Sure. Of course, Hee-chan."

"Don't call me that."

He followed me in, only breaking eye contact for a moment to automatically scan the cabin. "You seem very comfortable here," he observed awkwardly, ever vigilant to the point of discomfort.

I shrugged, smiling weakly. "It just easy here... to forget about the outside for a short while. I like it with Howard around, and all us pilots, you know? No matter how prickly some of you are."

Heero nodded vaguely, impervious to any attempts to lighten the air. Glancing at the bed and only seating arrangement, he asked, "May I sit?"

It was my turn to nod, watching his movements hawkishly as he stepped over and sat on the edge of my bunk. I didn't even want to consider the source of my vague sense of alarm, but it was put to rest when he reached up and ran a hand through his hair, somewhat uncharacteristically. He took several tired seconds of silence before he looked back up at me. His expression was as stony as ever, but I knew him well enough at his point to recognize that something was bothering him or he wouldn't be here at all.

I moved over and briskly climbed onto my bunk to sit cross-legged against the bulkhead, feeling jumpier than usual. "What's up?" I questioned sympathetically, trying to seem more relaxed than I was.

"I know I have no right to burden you, but I . . . ," Heero trailed off in a rare display of uncertainty, brow deeply frowned as he stared at the floor. "I don't know who else to ask who might know something about this subject."

Both intrigued and alarmed, I immediately responded, "Ask. I owe you one, and it would mean a lot to me to be able to repay it."

After a long pause, Heero glanced up at me, stoic but just slightly . . . regretful? "It's about Relena."

Relena again, and I couldn't help but laugh with the release of tension. Even though Relena Peacecraft was hardly my favorite topic of conversation, coming from Heero I was definitely getting off easy – though God only knows why he'd still think _I_ know something about girls. "What about her highness?"

My ears picked up the traces of a sigh. "She's obsessed with me."

There! His expression was tinted with embarrassment, I'm sure. I grinned like a maniac, and consoled, "I hear you, bro. The girls involved in this war are completely unhinged. Hilde's been following me around like a lost puppy... a rapid pitbull puppy."

Heero nodded solemnly in understanding, again locking eyes with me. "And that doesn't bother you?"

I shrugged, immediately discomforted by the mere thought of just how it bothered me. "It does," I admitted quietly before trying to steer into safer territory. "But it's kinda normal, right? If we weren't here, doing this crazy shit, we'd be in high school flunking history and flirting with girls. This is a good sign, it means that we aren't such freaks that the opposite sex finds us repulsive."

Turning to gaze thoughtfully at the wall, Heero eventually responds blankly, "Relena consumes too much of my time and demands too much of my attention. We are not in high school, this is war."

It was my turn to nod, slowly, giving inevitably into Heero's weighted drag back to the stark reality. His words were exactly what I had imagined during the course of my own issues with Hilde. "Which is why we are here preparing for battle, and not in bed with our lovers."

Heero frowned deeply for a long moment, but I couldn't tell why; nor did I get an answer when he asked coldly, "Have you had sex with her?"

I couldn't help but flinch a little at his words, which he would've had to be blind to miss. I couldn't bring myself to lie, but the truth shed light on some of my most buried fears. A normal fifteen-year-old would've jumped at the opportunity to bed a hot chick, but I was way past normal. Rather, I had reached a point of sexual dysfunction. In full defensive, I shot back, "Have _you_ had sex with Relena?"

"No!" Heero responded immediately and emphatically, leaning towards me for emphasis. "I don't appreciate her advances at all."

I tried to soothe my flustered quills and reestablish equilibrium, telling myself that Heero wasn't hinting at anything, that he was just unfailingly blunt. "Then what's the problem?" I asked, insightful enough to realize that Heero's main issue was with the unacceptable distraction that a crush would be.

"I try to keep a distance, but she interprets my actions as reason for further admiration... ," he said fatalistically, again releasing an almost audible sigh. "It's disconcerting and undesirable."

Trust Heero to be troubled more by Relena than anything else in his crazy life. I finally felt comfortable to admit, "I've... never had sex with Hilde either."

Heero glanced over at me, inscrutable as ever, but not unkind, "You want to though?"

I chewed my lip for a second, oscillating between a reactive hostility and a commitment to honesty. I closed my eyes, my arms and back seeping in strength from the bulkhead – strength to reach for the truth inside. Finally, I confessed curtly, "No. I am too fucked up for that."

With eyes closed, I waited in the dark for Heero's response.

"I think that maybe I am too."

The words were an unexpected balm, and I cracked my eyelids to see the world in narrow slits. Heero was vaguely staring at the floor, but his hand was reached far out to his side, dangerously close to mine. Trembling slightly, I inched my hand along the mattress until our fingertips brushed together. He continued to stare at the floor, and after a moment of stillness I closed my eyes again, briefly allowing myself to relax in the strange comfort of 01's presence. His fingers were rough, but warm and solid.

After long, peaceful minutes he spoke, "When you fight with Deathscythe now, it's different. Are you... at full capacity?"

I bit down on my tongue to prevent the flippant response that suggested itself, recognizing that this was Heero's way of expressing concern. Had he been truly worried about my performance, it would not have taken him this long to address the issue; and if anyone knew what I had gone through, it was him. He deserved as good an answer as I could give – however poorly formulated. "I never though it possible, but Shinigami has actually grown tired of all the killing and chaos... And yet my body just keeps on piloting Deathscythe with deadly accuracy, like, like riding a bike. But with bazookas. "

He withdrew his fingers then and I opened my eyes to his frowning inspection. I must've sounded crazy, but I had no other answer for him. I couldn't imagine him fighting without 110% dedication and determine, and that's why he was the perfect soldier while I was just good survivor.

After several tense heartbeats, he spoke with careful determination, "That does not answer the question. Are _you_ functional?"

Jeez, was Heero actually trying to ask a personal question? Uncomfortable with my gut's sudden clench, I shrugged reflexively and tried for an appropriately composed response, "I'm holding together as best I can, better than a couple months ago. I am struggling to carry my burdens, just like the rest of us… It hurts to see what this war has done to us. Quatre's weighed down by guilt because of Zero system, Wufei morns the destruction of his colony, and Trowa's amnesia... Well, like I said, we all carry our burdens."

Heero and I search each other's eyes for seconds longer, before he finally decided to retreat – metaphorically and literally. Getting to his feet and facing away, he said, "Thank you for speaking with me. I did not want to... add to your burden."

With that, he left my quarters, and on impulse I called after, "Hope it helped!"

Sleep was difficult after that, so I just lay in the dark, trying to maintain a restful trance instead of thinking about Heero, Hilde, or any of the horrible memories that haunted the edge of consciousness. It would've been nice to talk to Quatre, but he had too many of his own problems for me to be harassing him in the middle of night. Not to mention that we were all only hours away from once again fighting for our lives, and for the very future of humankind.

!

The final battle in this twisted and evolving war was against Zechs Marquise and White Fang, with their Libra super-ship and advanced mobile dolls. Hilde managed to infiltrate Libra and provide us with schematics, though even with my assistance she barely escaped with her life. Working together for once, under 04's guidance, the Gundam pilots mounted a joint offensive, and in the course of several consecutive days and nights of fighting, we systematically destroyed the White Fang forces. I eventually took off on a separate mission to rescue the Professors and safely bring them through the space battle to the Peacemillion. With the crafty Professors on our side, victory began to seem inevitable... and near. All us pilots were running on adrenaline fumes, but inertia seemed to let us go even farther and faster. Piece by piece, we managed to destroy the giant Libra before it crashed in Earth, with Heero hammering the final nail into its coffin. With the corpses of our slaughtered enemies cluttering the vicinity, we were the clear victors of the war and as such ordered all surviving resistance to surrender. Peace had finally come to Earth and her colonies.

! END of CH 4!

This chapter was definitely the hardest to write because I wanted to stay faithful to the anime series without being too repetitive, while also developing an original plot. I have not seen the Gundam Wing movie, and so my next chapter will be AU – and a nice relief for the constant referencing I did in this chapter. I'm sure there are still plenty of inconsistencies, but I did my best. PLEASE REVIEW.


	5. Peace

Warning: post-series AU. Mwahahaha, now that I have released myself from the constraints of canon, I'm gonna stretch my imagination muscles.

Thanks to Gilly Wrist and Snowdragonct for the reviews!

**Chapter 5: Peace **

"And in the twinkling of an eye, I might have to be restrained. . . God help the beast in me." – Nick Lowe, The Beast in Me

Vice Foreign Minister Relena Peacecraft presented us with medals at an extravagant awards ceremony. The event was broadcast throughout the new Earth Sphere Unified Nations, so it was easy enough to get a copy of it to watch afterwards – which I did a handful of times in the following months, both relieved that the fighting was over and missing my place in the world. When I felt most isolated, I would study the faces and voices and movements of the boys with whom I shared lonely kinship.

In the vid, Quatre looks the most at ease up on the stage, handsome in his tux and immaculately gracious in his acceptance of his award. Relena bowed to him, and he to her, then she placed a clunky gold medal around his neck. At the time I identified his nervousness from the flush only visible to those next to him, but he was a natural in front of an audience and on camera. His speech was the longest and the most eloquent, drifting through regret for the violence and death of the past to a hope for peace, cooperation, and rebuilding in the future. The crowd cheered wildly at the end, and I felt a sudden wave of confidence in my good friend. Yes, Quatre was seriously messed up about the crimes he had committed under the influence of the Zero system, and as 04 generally, but he was going to land on his feet in this new world of peace and prosperity.

"So thank you, my dear brothers and sisters," Quatre concluded with conviction. "For courageously risking your lives and families to fight beside us, for standing up for what is right even when it is not easy, and for having the grace and wisdom to now put aside the hostilities to work together to a new and glorious future!"

Relena approached Heero next and exchanged bows, then bestowed upon him another large medal. Heero looked exactly the same as ever, even dressed in a fancy-ass tux; his posture and body tension gave him away as an eternal soldier. He simply stalked up to the podium and spoke so bluntly that it almost made mockery of Quatre's well prepared soliloquy.

"I did what was necessary given the circumstances. Ideally, humanity can learn from what happened during this war and the events leading up to it, but I doubt that we will. As we continue to expand into space, peace must be maintained through our collective will and independence because it cannot be maintained by force over such vast distances. If we take even one lesson from these past years, it must be the vast death toll of modern space wars. Next time it might not be colonies destroyed, but Earth itself. Then there will be no winners, only losers."

It was probably the most words I had ever heard Heero say uninterrupted, and I was impressed, nodding from my position on the stage. The crowd tried for a somber applause, but Heero Yuy was such a famous war hero that it ended up as a thundering standing ovation that lasted a couple hearty minutes. Heero stood unmoved throughout, even as Relena threaded her arm through his and began waving to the audience.

When the noise did finally die down, Relena presented Trowa with his medal. Trowa spent the vast majority of the ceremony trying to hide behind his hair and blend into his surroundings, looking more like an extra than someone selected for distinction. Still, he wore his tux with as much comfort as his workout clothes, or the OZ uniform that he had once donned. His speech was shortest of all, with a brief glance at the camera and an understated, "Thank you."

Wufei was next. He bowed stiffly to Relena, accepted his award, and then just stood silently in front of the podium for long seconds with his head bowed. The crowd waited restlessly, but Wufei was unflappable, finally raising his head to scowl at his audience. When he opened his mouth, he spoke very slowly, as though addressing children. "I am the last of my clan... This war has claimed the lives of all my family and my entire colony, and many, many others... They died honorably so that we could live free... It is our duty to forge a fair and prosperous peace that will honor their sacrifices... Only days ago we faced the very likely possibility of global extinction because of our fighting... That we have survived to celebrate is supremely fortunate, and should not be taken for granted... Should the next war destroy us all, then all our fighting and dying has been for nothing... That is unacceptable. I cannot live if my people's sacrifices have been in vain."

Jeez, Wu. He carried his suffering so well, hiding his pain under righteous indignation, that it was easy to forget about the fifteen year old boy who had lost more than anyone else. I had been completely distraught for weeks after the Orphanage burned, but Chang Wufei seemed to barely break stride with the destruction of L5. I admired him because I recognized that this strength came in spite of the soul-felt loss, not because he was genuinely impervious to its agony.

Then it was my turn to be on the receiving end of a bow from the ever pink-clad Relena Peacecraft. I bowed back and met her unreadable eyes as she placed my medal softly around my neck. She may have nodded in encouragement before I was heading towards the podium myself, my prepared words completely escaping me in wake of my fellow pilot's pain.

"Uhhh...," I began unintelligently, my mind scrambling for something honest to offer up. I had prepared a cutsie little speech the night before, but it seemed painfully shallow and insufficient in comparison Heero's warning and Wufei's grief. I finally forced myself to say something, something honest, anything... and blurted out, "I shoulda died a decade ago, shoulda made nothing of my life, shoulda been content with just scraping by... Me, I'm _lucky_ that I got to fight for the colonies, cuz despite everything that happened, I got to be part of something important and good. It was hard and horrible, but it never really occurred to me to say no... I should be thanking you for making your own stand, and giving meaning to _my_ fight. Without your support, without you by my side, I'd just be another crazed L2 terrorist gunning for the authorities."

After a seemingly baffled pause, the audience started laughing and clapping enthusiastically, as though I had made a joke; and after seeing my ridiculous smile on the vid, it was not hard to see why they would chose to interpret my disjointed statements so. As had happened several times recently, I cringed at my attack of flippant honesty regarding what I considered a rather sensitive and personal matter. I really had turned into a clown. I both covered up and made matters worse by ending with two fingers raised in a peace sign and a loud, "Peace to Earth and the Colonies!"

Then the crowd really went wild, and for a moment I felt as optimistic about our collective future as I did Quatre Winner's. All us humans were damaged, but we were still alive to rebuild, and not without the energy to push forward. I turned away from the podium and caught Heero's eye for a moment. His expression was familiar in its stoicism, but for a moment I swear I could detect a deeper interest in... what? Me? The future? It was impossible to say.

I retook my position at the end of the Gundam pilot lineup, grinning like a fool, and we all bowed before walking off stage. It was the last time that the five of us would be all together for a very long time.

Wufei was the first to leave, not even going to the massive party that followed the award ceremony. I mourned his loss for a moment, but was quickly caught up in the infectious excitement around me. It seemed that everyone was celebrating – in the streets, on air, and at every expensive government-sponsored party throughout the colonies and on Earth. I was a little out of place among the diplomats, bureaucrats, and whoever the hell else was there, so at first I just stuck close to Quatre and Trowa as the former made the rounds from one acquaintance to another. Then, after a couple flukes of champagne, I boldly struck out on my own and proceeded to demonstrate my verbal gracelessness to anyone who foolishly picked this Gundam pilot to shower with gratitude and compliments. I do kinda pity the ones clearly trying to network with a potentially powerful ally, as I remember being purposely unhelpful and obtuse in this regard.

My eyes searched out Heero several times, but Relena was always at his side, apparently introducing him to a string of her own influential acquaintances. For a moment I was disappointed, but then two young female interns approached, and even though they were groupie sorts, it was sorta fun to flirt harmlessly for a little while – under the surprisingly empowering influence of even more alcohol. I found myself wishing that Hilde was at the party, as I finally felt confident enough to possibly engage her overtures. Not to mention that my libido was flaring hot enough to actually chase away the dark shadows that usually clouded anything sexual.

A couple more drinks, and Heero appeared suddenly next to me without me even noticing his approach.

"You're drinking too much, Maxwell," were the first words out of his mouth.

"Probably," I agreed enthusiastically, nodding and turning rudely away from one of the cute interns. The idea of conversing with Heero in my unnaturally flirtatious state was quite appealing, like poking at the tiger cage. "You should loosen up a li'l, Hee-chan, there'll never be a better reason!"

Heero studied my face critically, but it didn't concern me at all and I just grinned at him, content to bask idiotically in his vaguely thrilling presence. Finally, my drunken silence actually won over his sober sullenness and he spoke again, if somewhat hesitantly, "Do you have plans? Now that the war is over, I mean."

I shook my head vigorously, and the answer spilled easily from my lips, "No, I haven't even given it much thought. I never imagined that we'd win this war, just that I'd die somewhere along the road... It still doesn't make any sense when I think about it. Shit, Yuy, how'd the hell we survive this mess?"

Now it was Heero's turn to shake his head, though with much slower and more controlled movements. "I don't know. I also assumed that I would not live to see peace."

Heero's voice was so expressionless that it sent a jolt of concern through my tipsy haze. "What'll you do now?"

Heero shrugged, turning slightly to look out over the crowd. "If this is a true peace, then there is no room for me."

One of my eyebrows arched on its own volition and I snorted, "Ha! There ain't no such thing as true peace. There's always room for those willing to do the dirty work."

Heero nodded solemnly, only increasing my concern. The one thing I was sure of regarding the future was that I wanted to do something different with my life, something other than continuing on this path of death and destruction. However positive the outcome for humanity (which was debatable), it had given me little more than bad memories, worse nightmares, and a monster's talent for murder and mayhem. Sure, I appreciated the opportunity to champion the colonies, but I was completely burnt out on fighting. It seemed unbelievable that even Heero Yuy would want to keep fighting after what we had been through.

"Heero... If you never say no, then they will always find dirty work for you to do," I said, trying for some drunken wisdom, but I knew even as I spoke that the words would not really register with the perfect soldier. I had fought for revenge and dedication to the colonies, but Heero fought because he believed it his purpose, and I had always known that. Still, it sorta seemed sad to me, like he couldn't break out of his predestined mold; because even if he didn't want to, it was still a lonely, hard, and ultimately time-limited way to live.

Only a couple days after the ceremony, Lady Une announced the establishment of the Office of Preventers, which would supposedly act as a sort of joint planetary-colonial police force, and every one of us pilots was offered an agent position. Only Heero accepted. After a couple weeks on Earth, Quatre returned to the remnants of his family to take a lead role in Winner Enterprises, and Trowa followed under the pretence of being his bodyguard. Wufei just said that he wanted to resume his studies and then disappeared, leaving a trail that only a former Gundam pilot could follow. My periodic investigations placed him in various universities, monasteries, and dojos throughout China, northern India, and Southeast Asia.

At the time I was actively jealous at how easily they each seemed to choose their paths, even Heero in the end, while I still hadn't a fucking clue. I had never thought beyond survival and revenge for so long that now I was lost when confronted with almost infinite options. The so-called 'modest' award granted to each of the Gundam pilots was a lot of money by my standards, and would go far on L2.

"You could stay on Earth, even if you do not want to join the Preventors," Heero suggested, the one time I spoke to him after the big party.

"I know...," I conceded, but my reluctance was obvious over the video phone. I felt a little foolish for calling him out of the blue with a plea for advice, as Quatre was usually the better option on that front; reaching out wasn't my thing one way or the other.

Heero frowned and pushed, "But?"

"I dunno... This is gonna sound silly, but I feel kinda _off_ planetside. It's so strange, the way the ground slopes downwards, out of view, and it always creeps me out a tad, you know? On L2, all the colonies really, civilization rises up around me in every direction, like a giant dome... I know that _technically_ colonies're much more vulnerable than a planet, but I still feel safer under a steal hull than Earth's open skies."

Heero nodded slightly. "You are more comfortable living inside a sphere than on the outside of one. It is not an uncommon position among those raised on the colonies. With your background, there are a lot of opportunities for you in space."

"Yeah... Cap'n Howard has already offered me a place on Peacemillion," I conceded unenthusiastically.

"Is that what you want to do?" Heero asked, and I was impressed that he managed to display continued interest in the conversation for the several minutes that it had spanned.

"Argh!" I growled, throwing my hands up in the air theatrically. "I dunno, not really. I think maybe I'll go stay with him a while though, just cuz I wanna see him. But it isn't home anymore, with most of the ol' Sweepers gone. Plus, I'm not too keen on going back to salvage. It's months between docking sometimes, with fuck-all to do out in the middle of nowhere." I didn't add that the slow rocking monotony had pieced me together at a time when I felt myself unraveling. Now, though, I was sure I would feel trapped and bored.

Again Heero nodded, continuing his bizarre venture into empathy. "You need excitement, that is understandable."

"Not that kind of excitement!" I exclaimed pointing at Heero through the vidscreen. "I want people and diversity, fun and bright lights... no fighting or mobile suits, no killing. I want nothing to do with that anymore." Shinigami would have no place in my new world, I was going to take care of Duo this time.

"What about Deathscythe?" he asked bluntly, if quietly.

The perceptive fucker knew me better than I'd have given him credit for. Maybe he had been watching me as close as I had watched him, or maybe he was just that good. "There's not much to miss from the last couple years, but I'll miss her most of all." But she was Shinigami's lover, not Duo's.

Heero's gaze wondered off screen for a long moment before tracking back to me. "I have never missed anything in my life, but I think that I will miss you."

My mouth fell open a little bit in shock. Surely the Preventors hadn't enough time to completely reprogram him yet? I managed a fumbled, "I'll miss you too, Heero."

"You'll see me again," he replied, offering a small, awkward smile before he reached forward and cut the line. I was left grinning widely at a black screen, and a head full of optimistic speculation.

I did stay with Howard for a couple months, but only while pondering my options. Professor Gee tried to contact me a couple times while I was there, but I wanted nothing to do with his alternatives, so I didn't even answer his calls. I could barely grasp at why, but my heavy thoughts kept returning to L2. Sure, it was more familiar and my money would go farther, but I would have managed well enough on any colony I ended up on. I was very future-oriented and had little desire to revisit my past, yet my ghosts were undeniably part of the chorus calling me back. It wasn't like I even particularly _wanted _to go back, and I had already been back briefly during the war, to regroup that time instead of rebuild. And yet, L2 increasingly seemed like the most recurring option. Then one day, on a bored whim, I surfed through property listings for L2's business districts and stumbled on a spark of rare inspiration...

So almost four years after fleeing, I disembarked the Peacemillion at the very same docks of Mainport. However, in stark contrast to my secretive departure, my return was met by hordes of people – mostly thankful or curious locals, I suppose, but also a handful of important figures, the accompanying security, and the ever-lovely media. Howard almost disembarked with me, but stopped at seeing the scene just outside his airlock. Grasping my hand one last time, he looked me in the eye and spoke earnestly, "If you ever change your mind, or if you ever need help, Peacemillion is only a call away."

I nodded and smiled warmly, filled with a swell of happy affection. I squeezed his calloused hands, and briefly regretted not being able to be the son-figure that he clearly wanted me to be. I was simply too old and too wild to be part of a family at this late date. "Likewise, you know, if you ever need anything... And thank you, Captain, for everything. I still can't believe you gave me a job after I stowed away and stole from you all. "

The Captain nodded, sporting a quirky grin, then waved to the crowd. "You've always shown great potential, Duo, even thens... Now go get 'em."

I turned reluctantly to face the crowd, just like a wounded animal would view a swarm of vultures. The Prime Minister vulture was the first to directly welcome me, seconds before my feet even hit Mainport ground, his black pompadour and wide girth making him instantly recognizable from the vids. I had gotten caught up in this sort of thing a handful of times on Earth, but familiarity didn't make it any more pleasant. It wasn't that I particularly minded meeting the politicians (though they were inevitably windbags), but I found all the attention focused on me most unnerving. My specialty was flying under the radar, not putting on a show in full view of hungry scavengers.

Still, my training did help me wind through the thick crowd with an impressive speed – considering that two politicians, a unionist, two journalists, and a voluptuous fan each DEMANDED some of my attention. I would definitely be hearing from the Prime Minister again, as he was obviously hell-bent on using me to boost his administration's flailing popularity, and probably the unionist too. Finally I managed to slip into a taxi and had the driver take me a couple hours out to the dense Trappen district. A few paparazzi still trailed, so I got out several blocks from my destination and lost any followers on the busy walkways of the main commercial streets. Eventually I pulled on a hat, backtracked down a couple side roads, and then located my newly acquired property.

The old garage had so far missed out on the gentrification that was recycling this sector of the colony, but it was well equipped with all the essentials. And it had the capacity to be so much more, which thrilled me to a surprising extent. That combined with the good price had reeled me in almost the moment I saw its pictures, bringing me back to a time that I hadn't thought about in years now – a time when I had been almost happy working on engines in Tito's garage, before all the shit that destroyed the Orphanage. I stood in the dark, empty garage for the longest time, slowly taking it all in and savoring each memory-overlaid vision. There was a crap ton of work to do, but I was going to make this place the hottest garage this side of L2. Who knows, maybe all of L2.

I spent the night at a nearby hotel, hiding my hair and obscuring my face, and began fixing up the place the next day. I started with the small apartment above the garage, determined to spend no more money at the overpriced hotel. My night had been plagued by nightmares that I firmly attributed to the loud sex noises coming from the adjacent suite, though the mid-range whores peppering the lobby were also off putting.

My first whole day on L2, I bought a mattress, a set of folding chairs plus a table, paint supplies and a ladder, a bunch of nonperishable food, and some minor cookware. The second day I bought a used couch, and a state-of-the-art computer, then sat down and used the computer to burn the big money. I ordered all the tools, equipment, and building materials for my new garage, and used the waiting time to paint the entirety of the garage and my apartment. On day three, my paint-covered self was approached by two men in suits that positively reeked of government.

"Duo Maxwell," the one called out, forcing me to climb down from the ladder and confront my uninvited, briefcase-totting guests.

"The one and only."

The two men eyed me somewhat skeptically, before the Talker announced, "We come on behalf of Prime Minister Soko."

If they expected me to be impressed, they had no idea who they were dealing with. After an awkward pause, I prompted, "Yeah?"

"The Prime Minister requests a meeting with you," the Talker stated, sounding increasingly like a well spoken thug. "He has a business proposal that he thinks you will find most favorable."

"Highly doubtful, but thanks anyway," I deadpanned, my trigger finger actually twitching in misbegotten anticipation. It would have been real nice to be able to avoid L2 politics all together, but it wasn't looking too likely at the moment.

"He really does insist," the Talker replied, clearly not one accustomed to taking no for an answer.

I squashed the irritation that suggested I just do away with the problem and dump the bodies. I hadn't been gone from L2 long enough to forget the importance of having the ruling politicians on your side. Here a powerful enemy could erase you, your family, your business, your whole existence, and no one would risk looking into your suspicious disappearance. Most acquaintances wouldn't even bat an eye. "Let me guess, now is the only available time slot?"

The other thug grinned toothily and grunted his first words, "Exactly."

I rolled my eyes and gestured for my two guests to lead the way. I had my gun holstered in the waistband of my pants, snuggled in the small of my back, and that's all I needed. I did scold myself, however, for not digging up some dirt on this Soko while I had had the chance. It wouldn't have been too hard to hack into his personal files, but I had allowed myself to get swept away in the excitement of my new home and business instead. I had been too busy pretending that I had a new life.

The two men had a special car waiting on the hull rail, which whisked us across the colony in a matter of minutes. The Prime Minister's Office had its own stop, and after security waved us around the weapon detectors, I was promptly escorted to The Man himself. Behind giant doors lay a giant desk, behind which was a big man with a giant pompadour.

"Mr. Maxwell, welcome!" he boomed, a ginormous fake smile on his meaty face.

"Prime Minister Soko," I forced myself to say politely, repressing the alternating urges to laugh myself silly and beat him into submission.

He gestured towards a small chair, while sitting on his own prodigious pedestal. I sat awkwardly and stared a little impatiently before he finally spoke, "I think we can help each other, Duo. I am glad that you have chosen to return to L2."

"It's home, I guess," I muttered diplomatically. "But, with all due respect, I don't particularly want any help anyone. I just want to live like a normal person, try my hand at business."

Soko raised one eyebrow, but didn't look too surprised. I had already refused him at Mainport a few days ago. "Perhaps you are not the one that needs help. Maybe someone else? Others like you?"

My eyes narrowed dangerously, not liking this turn of the conversation. Screw diplomacy. "I would speak clearly if I were you, _we_ wouldn't want any misunderstandings."

The Prime Minister didn't look intimidated at all, though he did lean back in his chair. "The lot where Maxwell Orphanage used to be is still empty, and that barrio has been very hard hit by the war. I've had reports of urchins on every corner, but there's never enough money or political will to approve the plans for the Father Maxwell Memorial Orphanage."

It was my turn to lean back heavily in my seat, absolutely flabbergasted. I had purposely avoided thinking about the past since landing on L2, and I had _never_ considered honoring Father Maxwell, Sister Helen, and all the dead orphans in any other way than revenge. Now though, soaked in the blood of thousands of murders, I regretfully acknowledged to myself that this was is much closer to what they would have really wanted. That bloody bastard Soko had certainly done his homework, to offer me the one thing I never knew I always wanted.

"And what would this cost me?" I finally asked, filled equally with anger and guilt.

"Hardly a thing. A few public appearances, a well-placed good word or show of support."

That didn't seem too bad, but I knew that it was probably worse than it seemed. This kinda shit always was. "Only if I can support what you are doing," I hissed. "I won't be your puppet, or anyone's."

Soko leaned forward, probably sensing that he already won. "I am not a bad man, Duo, whatever you might think. I am trying to do what's best for L2, and for _everyone_ living here."

I had my doubts, but for the moment I would go along with the scenario because I had been thoroughly seduced by the PM's proposal. Maybe I could find a way to play this to my advantage, whatever his goals. "And I want to be in on the construction and running of the orphanage."

"Of course," Soko smiled fatly, looking every bit like a gorilla, and I held back the impulse to ram my fist into his fleshy lips.

After a mutually expectant pause, I questioned with irritation, "So, what, you wanna do this now?"

He shook his head, daring to look almost amused. "No. I want you to wear your tux, or your war uniform."

This time I let myself roll my eyes. I hadn't worn the priest getup since leaving Earth, as it was part of the past that I now wanted to leave behind. On the other hand, I really hated the monkey suit, with its god-awful _bowtie_. "When and where?"

"1100 hours on Friday, at the Great Hall. I'll send you the details before then."

Sounded like a dismissal to me. "Right," I responded immediately, practically leaping out of my chair. "I'll just show myself out then."

"It's been a pleasure to do business with you, Duo Maxwell," his smarmy voice boomed after me, as though not to deprive me of Soko's grating presence even in my departure. This relationship was not going to end well.

The same two thugs escorted me back to the hull rail and I was soon back in refuge of my garage, where I immediately sat in front of my computer and ordered a shitload of high-tech security equipment. After that, I was free to brood for hours as I began major construction and remodeling projects. The time to think combined with the systematic manual labor to act as a sort of self-therapy. I deconstructed as best I could my feelings about L2 and my history here, about my past as a Gundam pilot and being a killer, and about the current situation with the Prime Minister. I plumbed my guilt until it grew all consuming, eating away all other ambivalence like a wildfire through dead brush. It should have been miserable, not liberating, but I found my few tears were followed by relieved smiles. When I found the rare courage to beg God for forgiveness, I found my ghosts willing to offer soothing benediction. At night I was granted the blessedly sound sleep that comes from physical and emotional exertion.

On Friday I made a press appearance with Soko on the front steps of the Great Hall, dressed in my war uniform because I hated the tux just that much. The PM gave a long winded and self serving welcoming speech, which was met with a spatter of applause and a couple loud boos, and it became increasingly obvious why he had felt the need to approach me. Then I took my place in front of the mike and said my prepared words for the crowd and media.

"Thank you, Prime Minister, for your kind words. You have been very welcoming. I am proud and happy to be back home. I'm here to build a business and future on L2, because I know we're gonna forge better times." I forced a little energy into my act, "The war is over, we can get back to living!"

The crowd went wild, so I kept smiling and waving, and I could tell that Soko, that worm, was pleased with the turn out. When the clapping and cheering finally died down, we tried to answer a few questions from the media, but Soko shut it down when the audience started showing signs of excitability. Uh, what fucking mess had I gotten myself into, barely a week back colonyside?

I had to go significantly out of my way to lose the paparazzi and whoever else was tailing me, but I knew that I needed peace for a little longer. The public would find out about my whereabouts when my garage opened up, and I would spend the time before that getting my shit together good and solid. In the meantime, that very night in fact, I installed an almost ridiculously advanced security system to protect myself from both the curious and ill-intentioned. A twitching paranoia also informed that I would also have to set up a couple safe houses and several weapons caches – just in case.

Then it was back to my work therapy routine. The garage needed hangers and lifts, and outfitted workstations... Only this time, my restless thoughts found their way to truly dangerous territory as my mind drifted towards the other Gundam pilots, and then, tentatively, of Heero. What would he think of the situation with Soko? What was he up to right now? Was his life in danger on some Preventor mission, or was he just doing some desk work? Did he ever think of me?

I managed to keep my thoughts pleasant at first. I liked Heero, and thinking about him gave me this nice quivering feeling all over. Heero wasn't really the type that had friends, but I nevertheless concluded from the evidence that we were friends... and that meant a lot to me. More than it should.

That night the nightmares returned suddenly, with a nasty vengeance, and I woke twice drenched in sweat and biting back screams, images of blood and concrete seared into my mind. So the next day, while installing a hydraulic lift system, I forced myself to tackle the bigger problem. There was a goddamn purple elephant in the room, so close that it perved on me when I showered.

Just fucking say it, Duo, you pussy.

"I was raped by a sick OZ bastard." I stopped welding then for just a moment, just long enough to wipe the sweat from my brow and take a deep, controlled breath. My hands were steady, so I returned to work.

I was hardly the first. It happened all the time on L2, it had happened to a handful of kids in Solo's wolf pack and at the Orphanage, and it had really messed some of them up. But I was older than they had been, and I had lived through much worse... I should be able to get over it. Tye was dead, if OZ records are to be believed. What happened was just another aspect of torture, and I've already been tortured a handful of times in my life. It was just one incident really, nothing compared with the years of fear and hunger that characterized my youth.

Fuck! How could a monster feel such pain? I had murdered God knows how many people, and now I dared feel like a weak and suffering victim? I'm a killer, I laugh in the face of Death, so why is it still so hard to say the fucking word?

I was raped! I screamed in my head even as I continued working.

What really made me despair though is that these ponderings had tainted my musings on Heero. It was too obvious to deny anymore: I was crushing on the perfect soldier. And there are so many reasons why that was wrong and dangerous. It occurred to me that I might only be drawn to him because he had rescued me from Tye, and had touched my most vulnerable wounds, because somehow my emotions had gotten all twisted up... It also occurred to me that he would not be able to see past the weakness I had displayed then. Even if I was being overly self-conscious about my violation, the fact remained that Heero was emotionally unavailable, and I physically so. He was the perfect soldier, and sometimes I was Shinigami.

There my thoughts finally reached their darkest depths, where pain did not exist, only a terrible calm in the madness. This was the first time I had located this state on my own, willingly, and it made all the difference. After years using the mental crutch, it was surprisingly easy to recognize that Shinigami was nothing more than the monster in me. There was no magic to it, no otherworldliness; just a frightened boy, horrified by the things that he had done. I was still unsettled by my capacity for violence, but the feeling was curbed now by acceptance and an element of forgiveness.

What did I really accomplish during those weeks spent digesting my past and self-reflecting? (Other than renovating my garage, obviously.) I didn't really come up with any great solutions to what I still considered serious psychological problems, but I did feel that I understood myself and my situation better, and that brought a degree of comfort. That clarification would surely allow me to navigate the future more wisely, right? It couldn't be too hard to forge a future where I was more than just a survivor and a killer. I was going to make it fit; if I had to force my way in, I would make a space and place for myself in this world.

I can do this, I told myself over and over, psychosis and all.

! ! !

Other than working on my garage and my emotional problems, I did manage the occasional trip to a local store for supplies, and literally hundreds of telecalls. I enjoyed the rare conversation with Howard and Hilde, but mostly I spoke with the potential customers and supplies, potential business and political allies... nothing solid. Reluctantly, I spoke with the press too. I figured that using my reputation to help my business was small compensation for what I had sacrificed for this notoriety. I could never deny personal responsibility, and I didn't really regret my participation in the war, but I had come to the recent conclusion that my path towards healing and wholeness had been irrevocably damaged by my detour into bloody revenge.

I didn't snap out of my self-centered healing funk until a few days before the official opening of Duo's Dungeon. It was like I couldn't believe that I was living this new life until it was right on top of me. Which is how I found myself on the receiving end of one of Quatre's infamous telling-offs.

It started the moment I answered the videocall. "Duo! Why didn't you tell me?"

"What? What happened?" I exclaimed, startled from my state of silent solitude. I hadn't spoken Quatre since coming to L2 a couple months ago.

"Duo. . ." Quatre practically whined, looking a little pathetic. "I had to read it on the news feeds."

A sense of dread crept up, as I was pretty sure I hadn't done anything to warrant the attention of the intercolonial news feeds. "Oh, damn. What new rumor is making an ass of me now?"

"Only that you're opening an amazing garage!"

I couldn't help but smile at the complement shining through his outrage. "Yeah, that's true actually. The opening party is next Friday."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Quatre repeated, pouting theatrically.

I laughed easily, feeling better with every moment of friendly human interaction. "It isn't that big a deal, Quat. I'm surprised that it even made the intercolony news feeds. I only notified a few local press and industry types, honest. I think Hilde is the only friend who's going to be there, and that's only cuz she invited herself."

"It is a big deal! Can I invite myself then?"

"Huh?" I gaped for a second. "Sure, if you want... You know it's on L2, right?"

It was Quatre's turn to laugh, "Yes, Duo, I know where it is. I'll have you know that I've actually been to L2 before."

"Well, then you can come if you want," I offered doubtfully, "but don't expect anyone too impressive to be here."

Quatre smiled super sappy, "You'll be there, and me. That's pretty impressive... and Trowa, of course."

"Ha!" I barked, grinning madly and pointing an accusing finger at my friend. "Quatre Winner, you dog!"

"It's not like that," the blonde assured earnestly, though his reddening face betrayed him.

"No, it's all hearts and kisses and mushiness," I pushed evilly. We had never directly spoken of his relationship with Trowa, but he had left himself wide open this time – to such an extent that I suspected he might want to bring it up.

"Duo, stop!" Quatre squealed, almost giggling. When he calmed down after a moment, he managed to look at me seriously. "It's a little like that, but... it's good between us, Duo. Really it is, better than I ever could have imagined." His voice lowered to a whisper, "I'm in love."

I nodded, feeling happy for him, and stashed away the turmoil that lurked gloomily in the background. "Good for you, you both deserve it."

Quatre smiled gently. "So do you."

I was embarrassed, and that was my queue to change the topic. I eventually said my good-bye to Quatre with every intention of brooding, but I found myself more concerned with the sudden immediacy of the Dungeon's opening. It was as if I had just been woken from a daze; my opening was a mere week away, and there was still crap-loads to do! Granted, it was mostly a bunch of little stuff, but my sample piece was my one big problem: I didn't have one. What I did have was the husk of a sleek space racer, an eclectic collection of parts, and yellow and navy blue paints. Now while I have absolute confidence in my abilities, this timeline was absolutely impossible for the greatness I was envisioning for Deathscythe II.

What had started as just an idea for a show piece had evolved into a plan for the fastest space racer on L2. I threw myself completely into her construction, working practically around the clock for days. I took short naps, once again blessed with the deep, nightmare-free sleep that comes from healthy exhaustion. My waking hours were fueled by the fantasies of racing my new baby, which always played like some of my fondest memories flying the original Deathscythe. I knew that D2 would never live up to her predecessor, but I reckoned that I would still be able to be able to enjoy the simultaneously thrilling and peaceful wonder of hurling through space at astronomical speeds.

I had apparently fallen asleep on a tarp under the racer when I felt something suddenly tug at my leg. I woke with a start, banging my head on the hull painfully and consequently shouting a string of obscenities ending in, "How'd the fuck you get past security?"

"After ringing a half dozen times, we just let ourselves in," came a familiar voice.

I rolled out from under D2, still holding my forehead. "Quat! Trowa!"

"Duo!"Quatre returned, and I scrambled to my feet to give him a big bear hug that took him right off his feet. Trowa nodded to me, looking a little nervous that I might make a go at him too.

After a little chuckling and shoulder slapping, Quatre got serious. "Duo, isn't your opening in a half hour? There's already a bunch of people waiting out on the street."

"Oh shit!" I exclaimed, torn between panicking and laughing. After surviving all manner of horrors in my life, it was hard to take such a crisis too seriously. I had spent a lot of time lost in my work recently, and I felt a thousand times better for it.

"You're a mess," Trowa said, almost cracking a smile. No points for stating the obvious though, I was covered in paint and my hair was escaping from its braid in every imaginable direction.

"You get ready, then go disarm the security," Quatre ordered, of course trying to take control of this so-called messy situation. "We'll set up the garage."

I pointed out the supplies I had ordered for the opening, then dashed off to my apartment. I didn't have time to shower, just to change clothes, rebraid my hair, and sponge off what paint I could. Then I returned to the garage to deactivate security, and open the garage bay doors.

I don't know what I expected, but it certainly wasn't the herd of bipeds that greeted me. I spotted several press logos and a bunch of suits, but the vast majority of the crowd appeared to be howling locals, about as many people as could possibly fit on the narrow street. I grinned widely, knowing that this crowd was going to make it easy. I waved and gave my little speech about being happy to be home, then explained that Duo's Dungeon was aiming to be a five star garage for all vehicles. I finished with an announcement that I knew would go over well with the crowd, "And to demonstrate my abilities is my custom job, Deathsythe II, which I will be entering into the Beltway Race next quarter!"

Sure enough, the locals went apeshit; it didn't hurt that I was a popular hero, but they would have made almost as much racket for anyone announcing their participation in the L2 Beltway Race. Simply put, it is the most dangerous and unruly space race in the solar system, and the perennially favorite sport on L2. Most colonists would lose money on the race, as I myself had years ago while watching the game with Zoo and the garage gang, and again with the Sweepers.

I formally opened the garage and then proceeded to shake hands and exchange greetings with the never ending line of people that just _had_ to meet me. After a couple hours of this, I was feeling sorta like a circus freak, like I oughta be charging an entry fee or something. Quatre and Trowa had to fend off their share of greetings, but to a much lesser extent. When Hilde pushed her way to the front of the line, she managed to monopolize a good ten minutes of my time before the restless and impatient throng began to show signs of agitation. Thank god Quatre and Trowa were there to indulge in a little crowd control.

By the time the official closing time neared, I was thoroughly exhausted. Who would've thought that being nice, stretched over a long enough period of time, could be every bit as tiring as fighting? My fucking smile muscles hurt!

I blame the fatigue for not realizing that I was being surrounded until I was. A little startled, I looked from one serious face to another: four men and two women, dressed up but still easily identifiable as working class. I detected no obvious malice, so I checked the impulse to force a tactical change in our distribution.

"Do you like what you see here at the Dungeon?" I asked, imagining that to be a more normal way to approach the situation.

One of the women stepped forward, "Duo Maxwell. I'm Katrina Petrovsky, President of the Unions Alliance."

Ugh, and the plot thickens, I thought uncharitably. It wasn't that I didn't sympathize with their cause, but I was already as involved in politics as I wanted to be; and it's not as if the unions ever really gave a crap about all the poor souls that were too... old, young, sick, or criminal to work legally. I musta made a rather rude impression, because she barged on, "Don't pull that face on me. You're from the barrio, you ain't one of them, whatever you think. No matter how many times you stand in front of the cameras with that asshole Soko, he'll never accept you, you'll always be one of us. We're all just trying to make an honest living."

Her ballsy words made me take another appraising look: Katrina Petrovsky was a middle-aged blonde who may have been attractive in her youth, but living had clearly turned her into a brick shithouse that could kick most men's asses. A sudden respect bloomed inside of me, but that only meant that I would need to play a little hardball to get out of this intact. "Pardon my rudeness, Ms. Petrovsky. It's just that introductions like yours are often followed by explanations of what I can do for you. And surrounding me like this, well that often leads to violence."

Katrina narrowed her eyes in displeasure, and I knew that my hunch regarding her motives had been right on. "We meant no disrespect," Katrina stated between grated teeth. "We just wanted a few uninterrupted moments of your time. As for what you can do for us... We're community around here, Mr. Maxwell, and prefer to think of it as what we can do for each other."

There did seem to be a lot of _that_ going around.

Still, I did notice the suddenly upset and uncomfortable expressions on the rest of her posse, as a couple had actually backed up at my words. Katrina was smart and managed to use my observation to her advantage by introducing the little circle, "These are my colleagues. This is Bossy Glasper, from the factory workers' union; Seth Bree, from the independent business union; Dana Jackson, from the transportation union; Kazi Motavi, from the sanitation union; and Peetah Ali, from the human services union."

Unions were relatively powerful on L2, and I was familiar with all of the ones except that last. "The human services union?"

Peetah, a caramel colored man of no clear ethnicity, dipped his head in greeting. "We've only formed recently. We're a union for nurses, childcare workers, maids, home cooks, everyone who provides direct service to those who can afford to be waited on."

It certainly wasn't difficult to interpret his words, and this is exactly why I didn't want to talk with the Unionists: they always had a bone to pick with someone, usually anyone with more power than them. They did not have a good reputation on L2, where few ever did. Shaking my head I persisted, "I'm sorry, but I'm trying to avoid getting involved in the colony's political swamp. I just want to run my business."

Most of the unionists were looking dismayed, but Katrina was outright peeved. "Too late! You're already involved – just for being yourself, but now it looks to everyone that you've thrown your lot in with Soko!"

I glanced up to see Hilde, Quatre, and Trowa frowning at the commotion, but I shook my head subtly at them. This was definitely one situation that had to be dealt with in person if I hoped to run a successful business on this godforsaken colony. I annunciated my words carefully, to make myself perfectly clear, "Soko has agreed to create an orphanage in the barrio where I grew up, in exchange for a limited show of support. I have agreed because the orphanage means a lot to me, and that's all. That is the extent of our involvement."

Now Katrina was looking at my like I was an idiot. "Your 'involvement', as you put it, means a lot more than that. The people here see you as a hero, and so your support of Soko will have a much greater impact than what little good an orphanage can manage. And if you actually enter the Beltway Race, your popularity will only grow. Soko'll want to use you as long as you have that power, and you're a fool if you think he will allow any limits on your 'involvement'."

Her words stung true, but that didn't make me happy about it. "How's that any different than you unionists?" I asked bitterly.

Katrina appeared both hurt and unsurprised at my words. After a long pause, she continued, voice sharp but quiet, "We're trying to make a better society, from the bottom up, since the top's so rotten. If you're as great a hero as the vids say, then you'll want to be part of that instead of the rotten top. And no, there's no way to opt out – _psh_, this is L2. You should know that."

As happens once in a blue moon, I was at an actual loss for words. I glanced around at the six earnest faces, and reluctantly conceded to myself that it probably wouldn't hurt business to have the unions on my side. After a long moment, weighed by everyone's stares, I sighed my defeat, "You might be able to coax me into some good deed on your behalf, if it doesn't stir up too much trouble."

Katrina laughed, and couple of the others made noises of relief. I almost liked them all already, if reluctantly, recognizing that much of my reaction had been shaped by childhood prejudice towards unions and an instinctive dislike to their approach of surrounding me. Dana even giggled at me and threw in a flirty, "Why, honey, startin' trouble's the only way to get noticed on L2."

My smile softened my words, "Don't go feeling too special. It's like that everywhere."

We all shared another chuckle before Katrina nodded to her posse. "Well, we don't want to be keeping you from your business. We'll be seeing you around," she said as they took their leave.

"I'm sure," I replied, rolling my eyes. Seems like everyone wanted a piece of ol' Duo Maxwell, now that he was a war hero and not just another street urchin.

Quatre, Trowa, and Hilde had done a pretty good job of closing and ushering everyone else out, so I finally got to take a breather... though the looks on my three friends' faces dictated that I would schmooze with them before being granted the blessing of sleep. I mustered my energy reserves to pull a giant grin. "That went pretty well. Everyone on the colony must know of my store to pull such a crowd!"

Hilde was obviously impressed, "It looks great, Duo! You're going have customers coming out of your ears! Though, uh, about the Beltway Race, I hate to break it to you, but I don't know if Deathscythe II is quite up to the task..."

I laughed, cuz that was Hilde for you. She followed the annual Beltway Race like any good colonist, pilots in particular. "Go easy on me, I just pulled her together in the last week! I've still got some work to do before D2 is race worthy. There's time."

"I'll bet on you if you race," Trowa added, trying to participate in the conversation like a normal person. "It'd be nice to win for once." I was beginning to think that Quatre was training him to be social!

I shined my grin away from Trowa and back at Quatre to launch the question that I had being dying to ask since they'd arrived. "Okay, Quatre, 'fess up. Why're you really here? I'll bet you got twelve places you ought to be right now, and another twenty conference calls. Winner Enterprises doesn't run itself, you've said so yourself, and you've only been boss for a few months."

Quatre blushed, and even Trowa squirmed a little. "Duo..." Quatre leaned in conspiratorially, as if there was someone else in garage besides us four veterans. "The boredom is killing me. The last asinine case I mediated, I actually walked out on the two idiots!" His voice began rising a little hysterically. "I thought I was ready for this responsibility. I survived the war! But this peace is like some kind of slow torture attrition. I need to take a break before I snap on someone. It would make all the news: Winner heir raises pen from millionth form to stab blabbering colleague in jugular!"

Neither Hilde nor I could restrain our amusement completely. "That's why peace is always so hard to maintain," I offered wryly, "cuz it's all we can do not to kill each other day to day. I had to restrain myself a dozen times today alone. Those unionists don't know how lucky they got off."

Quatre seemed to think I had spoken some wisdom, because he nodded solemnly before adding, "The Preventers have quite a challenge ahead of them."

"They'll do okay, they have Heero," I found myself responding without much thought. "And a few other wild cards," I added when I thought of just who else worked for the Preventers.

Hilde, ever the optimist, added her two cents, "We'll get by. Hasn't been a war yet that's manage to annihilate everyone. Humanity just keeps growing and spreading."

I grunted my agreement, then took the prerogative to change the direction of the conversation by insisting on dinner.

Quatre and Trowa stayed another day, again spent managing the crowd at my garage, before reluctantly going back to their busy business lives. Hilde stayed for another couple days, and as the novelty interest died down, I had the opportunity to have real discussions with customers and her. Talk didn't scare me as much as it had in the past, as I had developed a modest comfort with once forbidden topics relating to myself. Hilde also wasn't as intimidating as in the past, probably a product of a little maturity on both our parts. She was managing her family's primary salvage yard, and seemed reasonably content with the arrangement. What she couldn't understand was us.

"The war is over, Duo," she urged, hand on my forearm. "I know that you've lost people close to you, but we're safe now. You're free to love, if that's what you want."

She gazed searchingly into my eyes, and I was struck again by what a strong, attractive, amazing woman Hilde was. Why did I know that she wasn't what I wanted? She was certainly more than I deserved... I'm such a fucking blockhead.

"I'm sorry, Hilde," I finally said, reluctantly but firmly, my mind scrambling for the right words. She deserved better than the false hopes that my past evasions had given her. "I can't give you what you want. Not now, probably never. You're the most amazing woman I have ever met, but, uh, frankly, you're too much for me."

Hilde frowned, cheeks reddening faintly, and retorted crossly, "What's that supposed to mean?"

I barely knew myself, but I tried again, wanting to get this right at whatever cost. "Listen, Hilde, you know I'm a little nuts, right? I have nightmares and flashbacks, and I lash out when I'm startled... I'm barely beginning to figure out who I am, and you – you're a whole different solar system. You're so strong and bold and beautiful that I want to be those things for you, and be like you. But I wouldn't be able to find myself if I did that, cuz the real me can be weak and shy and ugly, and I don't want to be those things with you… I don't want to hurt either of us. That's all I mean."

I must've offered a good approximation of the right thing to say, because Hilde's expression softened – though I wasn't thrilled with its traces of pity. "Oh, Duo. You can, you know. If you ever feel comfortable enough."

I accepted her hug, choking down a little more humility. A dose of ego discomfort was a small price to pay to be the first man to ever turn a chick down without ruining their relationship.

She left a few hours later, and I was again by myself; but the time with my friends, coupled with the success of my opening, allowed me I was feeling happier and more optimistic than I had in a long time. I dared think that I was more content than I had ever been, and that just maybe everything was going to be just great.

! ! !

Duo's Dungeon was hugely successful, pretty much immediately, and I was torn between disbelief and an odd sense of inevitability. It was obvious from day one that I would have to be very selective about which jobs I agreed to, as I could never hope to meet all the demand. I took the most interesting and challenging requests, primarily, which worked out because such often suited my financial needs. Sometimes I took easy jobs, when the customer offered me enough – I never really wanted to, but some people would offer simply ridiculous amounts of money for a custom job by yours truly. A large minority of my customers, however, were not rich, but rather lovers of racing, engines, stunt piloting, the whole gauntlet of space excitement. This base quickly grew into my main population of customers, as my reputation in the business spread and the novelty shoppers declined. All in all, I foresaw eventually having to take on an assistant or three.

I did a couple more public appearances with the Prime Minister, as he had managed to keep his requests reasonable for the time being, but the list of known complaints against him was constantly growing. My neighbors from across the street, a middle aged couple living above their trendy secondhand furniture store, claimed that he was evil incarnate. They said he was responsible for every ill L2 currently suffered, from the disrepair of its environmental controls to the crime, violence, and disease that came with its overpopulation. And they weren't the only ones. Customers complained about his unfair taxes, unreasonable restrictions, and unfair searches, and the gossip on the street said appalling things about both his political 'accomplishments' and his personal life.

And while many of these claims were blatantly and wildly outrageous, others had better articulated arguments that touched on just as many problems. Katrina Petrovsky and Seth Bree came by a few days after each appearance with Soko, to talk to me about the exploitation of the people and the evils of the current government. The second time they stopped by, Seth even talked me into signing up with the small business union. I didn't need much convincing, as I was aware of how much the Dungeon would benefit financially from being in the union network; but as a result, I heard even more about the troubles of 'the people'.

Despite my underclass suspicion of the unions, a lot of what Katrina and Seth said made good sense. Of course, they were not without their own misconceptions, and on their third visit, we got into the inevitable argument.

"I get it, guys. Soko and his group are corrupt, siphoning money from every direction, and certainly conspiring to maintain his position. But you gotta see where I'm coming from. Just cuz he's bad doesn't mean I want to buddy up to you all. The unions prevent people from getting jobs, and those people always end up being the most vulnerable. They needed that work, and were forced to go underground instead."

Katrina stared at me for a long moment, not even bothering with subtlety. Maybe it was written on my face, or maybe she was just that perceptive to conclude, "Let me guess, the unions prevented _you_ from getting legitimate work?"

I didn't say anything, but that first conclusion only led to more. Both Seth and Katrina were frowning, the latter leaning closer on the table where we all sat. "Duo, before the war, you were what? Eleven? Twelve? Definitely a minor, even by L2's lax standards. Of course you couldn't work. We're proud of the fact that we stand against child labor!"

Now I was frowning too, feeling betrayed by my own words. I wanted to defend my right to work, even as a child, because it would've been better than scrounging off the street; but I didn't want to get into such gory details. "That's not what I meant! There're plenty of adults that can't get into unions either!"

"Like ex-cons?" Seth sneered.

Now I was getting pissed off, and I pushed my chair away from the table. "Yes! Would you rather they go back to crime? Just cuz they got caught and you didn't? I should be considered a criminal by any objective standard. Being an ex-con doesn't mean they did anything worse than anyone else! "

"That's exactly what it means!" Apparently for Seth, being a small business owner put him above the standard level for L2 trash!

"Okay, let's all calm down," Katrina tried to arbitrate, though her gruff bearing made it hard. Seth and I continued to glare at each other for a long moment, so she continued. "Neither of you are wrong entirely. The unions do give preference to applicants without criminal backgrounds. But this is L2, we have to let in a fair number of people with backgrounds or we wouldn't have enough laborers to keep the colony operational. And the ones that don't get in... there's unrest in those quarters as well. If you really care about those who don't qualify for union membership, you should talk to Peetah."

Ugh, no way! These guys were wearing me down with their persistence, but I still didn't fucking want to get involved! "You know what? I'm not up for this right now, and I've got a lot of orders that need to get looked at before tomorrow." I stood up and gestured towards the door, my irritation plain on my face.

Katrina laughed and shrugged, though Seth still looked peeved at me. Once I had ushered them out, I tried to return to work, but found myself too agitated to focus properly. After a half hour of failing to accomplish much of anything, I grabbed my jacket and headed for my old stomping grounds.

Construction had begun on the Father Maxwell Memorial Orphanage, and I found myself taking the hull rail to the old barrio with some frequency. I was pretty recognizable in my new neighborhood, as most of the locals had made a point of introducing themselves, and I had made quite a few friendly acquaintances there, so it was nice to be able to disappear for a while. The barrio looked a little different than I remembered, but it was still a vermin and scumball infested ghetto. I spotted a few grimy street kids; not as many as there had been before the plague, but it was enough to steel my resolve to rebuild the orphanage.

On this particular day, my seemingly aimless walks through the barrio brought me to old Vlad's garage, where I stopped to gaze mournfully at the abandoned and derelict space. It was boarded up and I was tempted to trespass, for old times, but I didn't want to bother the squatters that had evidently made it home. Instead, I just took a moment to close my eyes and say a prayer for my neglected dead. With nothing remaining of the original Maxwell Church and Orphanage, the garage served better as a tombstone. The experience prompted me, just days later, to revisit the warehouse where Solo had died, and again offered my silent prayers – for him and the other children that had succumbed to the plague. My previous weeks of soul searching had given me the strength to come back to these painful places, but it was these visits that allowed me to leave some of the pain behind when I returned home.

Home, home, home... it's a funny word. The Dungeon was my home now, in a way that I had never really had a physical home, but it still felt so foreign. I had never had a home that was so lonely... or one that oscillated so violently between absolute, echoing emptiness at night and a stream of strangers during business hours. I had grown accustomed to solitude, but I had been one of many for so long that I occasionally found myself glancing at a non-existent companion, or saying something to a kid that wasn't there. I wasn't going nuts or anything, it was just weird to have a home that wasn't teaming with people. When people did drop by, I was a thousand kinds of friendly, and I know some of my neighbors and customers would have like to be real friends, but still I felt and kept my distance. I didn't know any other way.

I warded off loneliness in my limited spare time by preparing for the Beltway Race. When I felt D2 was worthy to be seen in action by potential customers, I began taking her out on test runs, and no one was disappointed – except maybe my competitors. D2 handled beautifully, better even with every adjustment, and was the fastest vehicle of its size that I had ever flown. I didn't really have the chance to compare her speeds in direct competition, but she seemed to compare favorably to footage and records from previous races. It felt good just to flying free in space again.

A couple weeks before the big race, the news feeds announced that Relena Peacecraft would be on L2 for a summit thingy and so had agreed to also present the award to the Beltway Race winner. My opinion of Vice Foreign Minister Peacecraft (who was both more famous and more important than the actual Foreign Minister) was still pretty mixed, particularly because I couldn't understand her to save my life. However, her presence made this race even more significant, and that prompted the Prime Minister's first clandestine visit to the Dungeon. He was polite, though I'm sure the presence of his three thugs was primarily for intimidation. He began by commenting on the progress of the new orphanage, which he quickly followed up with a "request" that, should I have the opportunity for a victory speech, I endorse his bid for reelection next year.

I bristled instinctually at the request, and it was only then that I truly realized how much I disliked the man. Sure, I had known that he was a thug from the start, but one too many conversations with Katrina, Seth, and Peetah had left me with an active disgust for the man. He was practically a mafia leader, working in tandem with the big business men to drain every last drop of wealth from the stupid, criminal, and disorganized populace. Not to mention the relatively convincing rumors that he beat his wife, terrorized his staff, and had even had members of the opposition assassinated.

Still, I found myself agreeing, if a nod can be considered a binding agreement. I tried to restrain my show of annoyance, but it showed anyway, if Soko's victorious smirk was any indication. He was sure that the leverage of the Memorial Orphanage was enough to allow him to ask this of me, and it infuriated me that he was mostly right. I watched him leave with narrowed eyes, already thinking of ways to get out of my commitment without sacrificing the orphanage or purposely throwing the race. I didn't mention the situation at all when Katrina and Peetah visited next, and I soon abandoned thoughts of the nasty Soko topic entirely in favor of pressing work and last minute adjustments to D2.

A few days before the race, I watched Relena disembark her ship to big fanfare and was gob smacked to recognize Yuy trailing her. Then of course, instead of preparing psychologically for the race, I spent those days hoping Heero would call me. Quatre, Howard, Hilde, and even Sa'ad all called to wish me luck, but nothing from the perfect soldier. I didn't have his local number, but that doesn't mean that I'd have called him if I did. Just being aware of his nearness made me both excited and nervous, and in retrospect, that was probably a better race mentality that the letdown that any conversation would likely have yielded. Indeed, on the day of the race, my determination had reached dangerous levels, stoked higher by the specific desire for Heero to see me win the great L2 Beltway Race and then get the award.

I flew D2 up to the starting marker. The race took the a winding path around L2's orbital circumference, like a belt that encompassed all the satellites and stations, weaving through the scrap and waste rings that orbited the colony as well as the concentrations of natural space debris. It should take roughly two hours to complete the full course, if no damage comes to the ship – but there were a lot of obstacles, and the competition could be counted on to get nasty. Weapons were not allowed, but there were a lot of things that didn't technically qualify as weapons.

The sudden flash of light signaled the start of the race, and I immediately slammed down the accelerator. D2 leaped forward, and seconds later I was swerving to miss a speeding projectile – was that a crushed refrigerator? I glanced at my rearview screen to see that, predictably, a good number of the racers had decided to take out the competition right away, and were shooting all manner of garbage at each other – an intelligent strategy only considering how much all that scrap must weigh. Me, I had gone for a much more minimalist approach: limited shielding and weaponry to give me the extra speed, and my piloting skills to dodge gruesome death.

I veered suddenly to the left to avoid a spray of shrapnel and swerved back as condensed metal hurled out into space, just missing my flank. Then finally I was out of range of the brawlers, a standard staple of the Belt Race (just cuz your ship was slow as dirt didn't mean you couldn't enter for the fight!), and I had a chance to look at the real competition. I recognized Loki's Motive, who belonged to one of my more friendly customers, and the Razor, last year's champion from L4. Two other racers, both compact and streamlined, occupied the front zone – the Headless Horseman, painted black in a mediocre pass at camouflage, and a suped-up junker that appeared to be running hot. After a brief analysis of the latter's engine burn, I concluded that this joker didn't have the skill required to run _that_ hot without overheating; I would have to keep my distance if I wanted to avoid what was looking to be an inevitable explosion.

We were only racing through open space for about fifteen minutes before we hit the first waste ring. Most of the racers had the good grace to slow down a little, but the junker and I took it at full speed –

"SHINIGAMI LIVES!" I cried, caught up in a sudden surge of adrenaline and remembered passion.

– barreling into bazillions of crushed waste dust that had been processed and dumped by the colony. D2 took the impact well, though the forced deceleration would leave bruises under the seat straps, and I wrestled with the pilot stick to maintain a constant direction. Slightly ahead of me, Loki's Motive and the Razor were struggling similarly against the current of tiny crystals, while the black ship was both highly visible against the tan particles and definitely moving slower.

The next few minutes were a little rough, my teeth and fists clenched tightly, but then I was spat back into open space. I accelerated immediately to full speed and quickly switched to autopilot to check for hull damage. I did what hurried repairs I could over the next twenty minutes, then I was back in my seat, bracing for the next hurdle – the ring of chunky space debris. In any normal situation a pilot would go around such an obstacle, but the race course took us straight through it.

I ignored the small debris, and even, reluctantly, the medium sized debris, in favor of avoiding those tumbling space rocks that were closer to the size of D2 herself. My baby took a jarring couple hits that would probably need to be tended to soon, and she started vibrating dangerously, but she kept it together as I soared swiftly through the shifting maze of deadly rubble. I felt good actually, if a little giddy; my adrenaline was pumping, and I was smooth and confident in this familiar medium. This was more fun than I'd had flying in ages.

The small shockwave of an explosion interrupted my thrill-buzz, and I permitted myself the quickest glance to my side screen: Loki's Motive had taken a hit in the engine and appeared to be twirling, luckily, out into open space. A tug would be by to bring in the crippled vehicle, which is a better ending than sudden death by space rock – something that would likely befall at least one of the less competent racers that trailed distantly. I didn't let my thoughts linger on the possibility of casualties, forcing my attention back to navigating the debris field. Like déjà vu, I was suddenly two places at once: on D2 during the Belt Race, and on Deathscythe, hoping to lose the swarm of Oz dolls in the asteroid belt.

The doublethink vanished abruptly as I hit open space again in a couple seconds, just behind the Razor and just in front of the junker. A pinnacle of tense, focused adrenaline, I dared push the engine just a little farther into the red, and began to close the distance between the Razor and D2. The former champion apparently didn't take too kindly to this encroachment, because he suddenly swerved to cut me off. I moved D2 easily to maintain a safe distance from the other ship, just as a hatch opened an automatic gun descended –

"Motherfucker!" Those were definitely not regulation!

A spray of bullets shot my way, and I rolled D2 violently. I felt the impact of something hit, but it took me a second to realize that the minimal gravity had cut out completely. My braid was floating above me as I swung D2 around to a position above the Razor and out of the weapon's reach. My fingers twitched tellingly, and that is exactly why I hadn't mounted my own illegal weaponry for 'just in case': I would've blown that cheating motherfucker away with barely a bat of an eye, and that simply wasn't right. So instead I had to rely on D2's durability and my own piloting skills.

It took a second to spot my target, then I jerked down and smashed D2's landers straight down on the Razor's sensor array. The force of the collision pushed the other racer significantly off course – permanently, as my attack had successfully deprived the pilot of all sensor information on its surroundings. The Razor would have to be towed back in, or else limp back very slowly, as relying on just visuals to pilot is exceedingly tricky. I found myself giggling hysterically, and that's when I suspected that I was losing air (preferable to the other option, that I was losing my mind again). Then I noticed something else.

"You sneaky bastard!" The junker had used my scuffle to creep ahead!

Impulse suggested I push the limit of my engines to get ahead, but I could see the second waste ring in the distance, and I knew that I needed to find the leak before D2 took any more damage. I set my speed as fast as I dared on autopilot, and turned my face away from the consul to spray spit into the air. It seemed to take a beat, but then the molecules were migrating, slowly but purposefully, towards my feet. I unstrapped myself and used my hands to maneuver my body around in zero G. I grabbed my welder, and wedged myself between the seat base and the ship's bulkhead. Traces of my saliva were still disappearing into a tiny crack in the hull, only visible from inches away. I was lucky, anything much bigger would've depressurized D2 too quickly and with too much force to easily repair; and if I hadn't noticed it as early as I had, the tear might have gotten bigger or deprived me of so much Oxygen that I fucked something up during a delicate moment... As it was, a little welding action was all it took to seal up the little disaster-in-waiting.

I hauled my ass back into the seat and barely had time to buckle back in (truly a necessity in zero G!) before D2 hit the waste ring for a second time, this time on the other side of L2. It was a little easier to keep on course the second time, though D2's continued vibration added a new challenge, and I consequently managed a better speed. Squinting searchingly, I finally spotted the junker in the poor visibility. Sensors were practically useless with all the particle interference and vibration, but I could tell with just my eyes that I was gaining on the other racer. And apparently, so could the other pilot, if the sudden flare in the junker's engines was any indication.

But the ship had already been running hot, and the waste density added too much strain; I could tell from the almost blue tint of the engine flame that it was about to blow. I careened wide, and seconds later D2 was hit by a mild aftershock of explosion. My rear vidscreen showed the junker adrift in the waste current, with an ugly nothingness where its engine used to be. Another ship that would have to be towed in, I thought rather maniacally, practically celebrating my victory already.

It was premature. Something glimmered in the corner of my eye, just enough that my attention darted to aft screen. I frowned, then gasped in recognition: it was the Headless Horseman! I was more shocked that its camouflage had worked at all than I was inspired to move by the opening of its bay doors. Something flashing shot out, trailed by a curious cord, and I arched away –

But the fucker curved around and hit D2's hull with a heavy _thunk_! I must've been equipped with a heat sensor or magnetic field or something, as a consequence of which I was now attached to the Headless Horseman! D2 began to decelerate noticeably as the other racer started winding in cord and closing the distance between us. I tried a couple evasive maneuvers, but the connection held so strong that I could hear the hull creak. It gave me an idea though, and I turned my attention to my captor, surely grinning like the God of Death himself.

That's when my behavior abruptly shifted into perspective, and I sobered immediately, unnerved by my sudden awareness of Shinigami's proximity. Its familiar oblivion was tempting, and felt harmless, but my recent escape from the miserable depths my own mind was only too fresh in my memory. I was not ready to give up on being more than an unhinged former killer, so I wrenched away from the monster within – all without skipping a beat. Cold and analytical now, I decelerated suddenly, then pulled a gut-wrenchingly fast U-turn that flung D2 back towards the Headless Horseman. I shot past the racer, pulling the cord taunt and yanking the racer around after me. I immediately executed a second sharp U-turn to head back towards the finish line, the Horseman bucking all the way like a wild animal. Sure enough, it was only a matter of a dozen seconds before the stress of being pulled in two different directions ripped the other racer's hull right in two! The fuselage spun off in the opposite direction, while the smaller tail section came flying after me, still attached by the cord. I would have to slow down carefully if I hoped to avoid an ugly ramming by that tail section.

I spared a second to eye the fuselage and the minimal amount of escaping air spray. Odds were good that that the pilot was still alive with at least partial air pressure. At least his construction was sound.

Mere minutes later I crossed the finish line, and only then did I relax my grip on the controls and gradually reduce speed. My emotions felt unstable, torn between wanting to celebrate my victory and stressing over Shinigami's foolishly unexpected appearance in my post-war life. The control room hailed me three times before I collected myself enough to give any priority to answering.

"Loud and clear, control," I barked, voice a little unsteady. "This is Deathscythe II."

I could hear some cheering in the background as a voice responded, "Copy, Deathscythe II. This is control. Congratulations on your victory! Do you need assistance coming in?"

Given that D2 was actually vibrating rather violently, and that I had recently used her landers as a battering ram, I would almost certainly encounter some difficulties in trying to dock solo. I had to remind myself that there was no real need to take the risk. I didn't _need_ assistance, but neither did D2 and the port _need_ to survive a couple failed metal-crunching attempts at docking. I'm such a freak for even having to talk myself into accepting help! "That's affirmative, control. My landers are smashed and the engine is causing vibration."

"Roger that. A tug'll be out shortly."

I turned off the com and leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes, tuning instinctively to D2's gradual slowing. I practiced breathing normally and focusing on my body, until I finally began to stabilize. Only then could I safely allow myself to feel again. My lips began inching wider until a grin finally ate up my face with appreciation. I'd won the Beltway!

I laughed out loud, explosively relieved. I felt like I had just escaped a near miss with death, or with the God of Death anyway. I was thrilled to have won, of course, but more importantly, the victory was proof that I was a badass even without the psychological assistance of the Shinigami. Just as the success of Duo's Dungeon was proof that I could succeed in the real world as something other than an adrenaline junky bent on revenge.

The tug was quick to attach a steel rope to D2, then towed her to the landing bay. The right equipment made my landing easy, and I welcomed the return to gravity. I was met by the port master, a couple dozen cheering mechanics, and a bunch of paparazzi. I did my smiling and waving thing for a beat before one of the Beltway Race Organizers pushed his way through the crowd to whisk me away.

Minutes later I found myself standing in front of two giant sliding doors, which positively radiated the loud life within. I glanced at my guide, a stocky senior with a thick scar through his left eyebrow, and wearing a ridiculous red shirt reading BRO. "Go on, son. Everybody's waiting for you."

I nodded slowly, suddenly facing the reality of facing Relena Peacecraft and the ever unnerving Heero Yuy, and surrounded by hundreds of people no less. Did I really want to do this? It wouldn't be too hard to just skip out on the ceremony, everyone knew who had won anyway.

Something must have shown on my face, 'cause the old BRO spoke again, "My wife would sure like to see you get that award."

I frowned, but he continued, "It's great to see someone from the barrio, you know? We don't get this kinda attention too often. And you... well, you've shown Earth and the other colonies that L2 can produce both heroes and winners."

Reluctantly, I knew what he meant: the L2 Beltway Race meant too much to the locals to be disrespected, as did the famous Duo Maxwell for that matter. This colony had few enough reasons to celebrate and be proud without their greatest living hero bailing on their most cherished sport event.

"Thanks," I said firmly, admonishing myself for both my selfishness and shyness, and at the same time steeling myself for what I had to do. Then I stepped forward and the doors slid open.

A gush of energy, bright light, and thunderous cheering swept over me before coming into sharp focus. I did my smiling and waving routine again, and practically jogged self-consciously down the red carpet towards the stage. After the world's longest walk, I tripped up the stairs and was a bundle of nerves by the time I was standing on the stage and bowing to Relena. My eyes immediately slid past her to locate their true goal, 01 standing in the shadows just off stage.

Heero Yuy looked better than I remembered. In the almost nine months since I had seen him last, he had grown both in height and girth to a dimension more suitable for an adult, and had buzzed his hair, military style. I met his eyes for a burning moment, and I swear I detected the slightest upward quirk of his lips. I instantly felt so ridiculously _happy_ that my confidence and good mood returned with a vengeance, and I turned to take my place at the podium with a genuine smile.

"Come _on_, L2! Last year was a disgrace! The Razor? How dare we allow the Beltway trophy fall into the hands of someone from L4? No one beats us at playing dirty, and NO ONE beats us when it comes to flying through shit, spaced or otherwise!"

About half of the crowd went wild – the half standing in the back of the room, with a velvet rope separating them from all the richies sitting in the front half of the room. I could picture Relena behind me having an aneurism, but I could also imagine all the crude laughing and cheering that was certainly happening across the colony. After generations have lived and died in L2's toxic environment, survival is just what pride looks like on our colony.

"Seriously though, the competition was fast, smart, and ballsy, came pretty close to beating me a couple times, under potentially deadly conditions. They deserve their own awards."

I paused for the requisite applause, wondering what I was going to say next when my eyes fell on Prime Minister Soko sitting in the front row of the audience, looking like a great toad and squinting at me meaningfully. Whatever! With Heero behind me and all the hope of L2 in front of me, there was no way I could endorse this horrible human being. My emotions had been on such a rollercoaster ride for the last few hours that I barely understood how I felt beyond defiant. Somehow, I'd make it up to Father Maxwell and Sister Helen and all the new orphans...

"Oh, and by the way, Soko here," I said, pointing down at the Prime Minister. "Wanted me to endorse him for reelection. I suppose I should, since he asked so underhandedly, but I can't really think of any reasons that would convince you. Soko and his cronies have taken your taxes and bought themselves homes off-colony, where their families can safely thrive away from L2's literal and metaphorical poisons. You and I, meanwhile, get to work twelve hours a day just to keep a bed and a full belly, always afraid of running afoul of the government mafia. I'm thinking that we might want to organize some kind of resistance to this bullshit – through legal means of course!" Never hurts to cover your ass...

"Our votes might be meaningless in this corrupt system, but I dare say the colony can't run too well without us grunts running the environment and sanitation systems, not to mention every one of those port guys that orchestrated the landing of all these fine rich folks from Earth and other colonies!" The audience in the back hissed and jeered, edging me on. "Not to mention the factories, the small businesses, the janitors and mechanics and everyone else that permits this colony to survive. It's our power that –"

The microphone cut out, but fuck that! My giddy adrenaline had me jumping up and down and shouting at the top of my lungs, "It's our power! They make their money off our labor! We give them their power!"

I opened my mouth to continue screaming, but someone's hand suddenly wrapped itself around my wrist with a painful force. I jerked my head away from the chaos erupting in front of me, directly into Heero's confused gaze.

"Stop," he ordered firmly, but not unkindly, and I shut my mouth. He's lucky that I like his joy-killing ass cuz I'm not normally known for doing as told. I glanced back at Soko, who was glaring at me murderously while getting up to leave, but the only reaction that felt natural was a shit-eating smirk. All around him, the richies were looking outraged, some of standing and cursing and acting every bit as uncouth as those in the back.

I allowed Heero to pull me off stage and into the back area, Peacecraft on our heals. "What are you doing?" she whispered screechingly.

I kept my eyes on Heero, but he stepped back and clearly also wanted an answer to that question. I shrugged, "Telling the truth. Soko's a slimeball, trying to blackmail me into helping him rob L2 blind. I'm not down with that, though it's real nice to see you both. Sorry to rain on your ceremony thingy. You can tell the press later that you don't share my views."

Relena was apparently gob smacked for once in her life, but Heero looked almost amused. "That was an impressive race," he grunted, his lips hinting at a smile.

"Thank you," I replied with a flamboyant bow.

"Duo!" Relena hissed, simultaneously shrill and hushed. "The last thing L2 needs is more violence! The government may be corrupt, but that can be addressed through the proper channels."

I turned my attention back to her, surely staring at her as though she had grown a second, off-colored head. "I've never heard of such channels, are you sure they exist on L2? Has anyone in government ever been successfully prosecuted on L2?"

Relena opened her mouth automatically, but nothing came out. I guess there was nothing to say, because I'm pretty sure the answer is a resounding NO.

An awkward stretch of silence followed, punctuated by the raucous noise of the slowly emptying auditorium, just a wall and curtain away. Finally, Heero spoke bluntly to Relena, "We should leave now. Your safety status is deteriorating."

Relena again opened her big gob again, but Heero continued, turning to me, "Can we meet up later?"

I blinked repeatedly at him, in full-on owl mode. "Sure," I forced myself to say, feeling equally pleased and surprised.

Then Heero took Relena by the elbow and led her away, almost immediately showered by protests. I waited a few minutes before making my own exit. I really did consider the sewage ducts a little beneath me these days, but it was the only way to get by the hoard of paparazzi and drunk fans – a group that had probably now morphed to include angry, rioting locals. It would only be a matter of minutes before the requisite bunch of corrupt bastards showed up to conduct crowd control. So I broke the lock on the hatchway in the bathroom, tucked my braid down the neck of my full-bodied suit, and climbed on through.

The sewer was actually a less disgusting than I remembered it being as a kid. For one thing, the foul muck was less overwhelming at my present height, and my full-bodied, flame retardant pilot's suit proved rather effective insulation. I trudged through waist-high sewage for a couple hours before I felt enough time and distance had passed, cursing my idiocy under my breath. It seemed to the untrained eye like a hellish maze, but I had long ago figured out the pattern of L2's waste veins; no place important connected directly, but that still left the rest of colony.

Finally, I slipped my goggles over my eyes, smeared some dirt on my face, and I emerged onto a side street a couple neighborhoods away – practically staggering at the sudden onslaught of fresh air. I quickly made my way to the nearest railcar, counting on my stench to divert attention from a face and suit that had just been broadcast on a dozen channels: it worked, and I got half a railcar all to myself. The Trappen neighborhood, which I dared call home, proved a little more difficult. As I peered around a building at the corner of my block, I couldn't miss the crowd waiting outside my door.

I growled in frustration, physically tired and irritated at myself for having gotten myself in this situation. While the media was an unwelcome and acceptable consequence of winning the Beltway Race, the speech that had followed had been pure self-sabotage. What had I been thinking, saying all that? Stupid! I hadn't been thinking at all! I'd been _feeling_ confident and fearless, contemptuous towards Soko, and thrilled by Heero's presence behind me. And now I had to climb up the back of my neighbor's building, leap over to my roof, and use my own emergency exit!

I dropped down from the ceiling into my dark room, landing in a crouch – and then immediately took in someone else's unexpected presence.

"Fuck!" I shouted, startling back and falling on my ass even as I recognized Heero sitting patiently in the room's only chair.

Then he stood, flicked on the light, and planted himself in front of me, his buzz cut making him look even more solid and deadly. I just gaped up at him, certainly not expecting this three hours later version of later, until he finally broke the silence, "You stink."

I rolled my eyes, then got to my feet. "Yeah, well, the L2 sewage ducts are the worst of any colony. I hear that shit smells better on L4."

Heero's mouth hinted at a smile, but his nose wrinkled distinctly. "If you want to shower, I'll wait."

I must've _really_ stunk for him to make that offer, as Heero had never been one much for waiting. I cocked an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you got rid of Relena that fast. Won't you be needing to get back to work?"

"She wants answers to some of the same questions I do," Heero stated without inflection.

I nodded, a little disappointed but not daring to acknowledge the feeling, and much too pleased with Heero's presence to sulk much. Instead, I retrieved some clothes from my room and hit the showers, where I savored the rare excitement that forced my lips into a cheesy smile and my gut into knots. I closed my eyes and spread the shampoo through my hair, then used the suds to clean my face, and chest, and...

I jerked my eyelids open and stared at my hand, cupping my hardening penis. For a split second, I had a decision to make: denial or acceptance. Never one to let momentum go to waste, I barreled headlong into acceptance, telling myself that it was normal for teenage boy. So what if I rarely sported erections these days, and hadn't masturbated since before the rape? So what if this would make it that much more difficult to face Heero afterwards? Heero was safe, he would never be able to think of me sexually. He had proven himself safe during my state of complete vulnerability.

I closed my eyes again, diverting my attention towards physical sensations of warm water pelting my head and body. I pictured Heero leaning against the wall of the shower, watching me through hooded eyes and smiling sexy, and allowed my inspired hand to be guided by instinct. Within a couple minutes, I was breathing hard and backed up against the cold tiles, imagining Heero's body pressing against me, his rough hands pushing mine away and gripping my hard-on possessively, rasping, "Duo, I want you."

I gasped suddenly, jerking my head back to crack painfully against the tiles, and then I was cumming...

I took long seconds to savor the physical and emotional release, feeling so damn _good_. How could I have gone so long without? Eventually, of course, the embarrassment trickled back in. I knew a certain amount of trepidation was also lurking in the back of the mind, but I had more immediate concerns and managed to box it out completely. I quickly cleaned away all evidence of my activities, and then took a little longer to finish up with my hair and shut off the shower.

Preparing to meet my masturbatory fantasy has got to be the single most unnerving dressing experience of my life. I checked my reflection more in those handful of minutes than I had in my entire sixteen (seventeen?) years of existence. Surely he wouldn't be able to tell just from looking at me, would he? That I had jerked off to him, that I fancied him, that I wished more than anything that he had not been the one to see me so broken…

Again I turned consciously away from such thoughts, and focused on my outward appearance. I was awfully thin, wasn't I? I had grown taller, but my face was still boyish and my body a little gangly now. And rolling my hair into a gigantic towel beehive on the top of my head was decidedly unflattering.

Sighing reluctantly, I removed the towels. I knew it would only add to the embarrassment, but I was willing to neither wear the beehive nor make Heero wait any longer. I walked out holding the long dripping hair with one hand and using the other to attack it with a soft-bristle brush. I may have been a pining mess inside, but I still knew how to play it cool. Heero was sitting on the only chair, so I headed for my bed. "So, let's get to those questions."

Heero observed me for a long pause, as I pretended absorption in the brushing process, but finally spoke, "Are you attempting to organize a revolt?"

I had to glance up at that, a little surprised – though I shouldn't have been, in retrospect, given my words earlier in the day. "No! I, uh, I mean... I don't think so."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Heero responded with a frown.

I shrugged, annoyed at myself for having spent my shower jerking off instead of coming up with answers, which were all that Heero was interested in anyway. Heero continued to study me until I sighed irritably, and tried to make him understand, "Just that I don't like what Soko's doing to _my_ colony, and I'm not the only one. Relena might think I'm inciting violence, but with this level of corruption, violence is inevitable... Soko, the Union guys, several humanitarian groups, they all came to me, not the other way around. I wanted to stay out of it, Heero, I really did, but this is L2," definitely ranting at this point, "and there's no staying out of anything! You're either part of the solution, or part of the problem, and either way I end up wading through shit. I wasn't trying to start anything, but I'm not falling on Soko's side in this one!"

I was flushed by the end of my tirade, my hands trembling slightly as they clumsily continued brushing, and I began to wish that Heero wasn't here at all. I was exhausted from my day, running on pure effort now, and occasionally nauseous from the emotional rollercoaster I was on. I wanted Heero to be nice to me in my fragile emotional state, and grilling me for answers was just not hacking it. My emotions must have been pretty obvious for Heero to pick up on them. "I don't want to upset you."

I rubbed at my eyes for a second, striving for some detachment and equilibrium. "It's not your fault. The situation with Soko... it's just complicated, and I'm not up to figuring it all out tonight. But you can assure Relena that I won't be leading any armed rebellions just yet."

Heero considered me for a heavy moment, then nodded acceptingly. Silence reigned for tense seconds before he cleared his throat and spoke again, "How... how is your life otherwise?"

It was my turn then to stare at Heero, who was indeed looking as awkward as one would expect from the perfect soldier as he makes an early foray into the world of small talk. His left hand had a death hold on his knee, and he had a kinda constipated expression on his face. I wanted to think that this effort meant that he was trying to reach out to me, so I ventured what olive branch I could, "Pretty good, 'fore all this anyway. The business is doing well and keeping me busy. It doesn't look like I've started talking to myself yet, so that's a good sign..." Heero seemed to relax a little as I talked, and it soothed my ruffled feathers. "How's life as a Preventer?"

Heero shrugged, finally looking away, just as I finished brushing my hair. "It's not what I anticipated. I spend a lot of time with civilians... and so far, every partner I've been teamed with has proven weak and incompetent, and then decided to transfer instead of becoming stronger and more capable."

I had to laugh out loud at that, amusement pushing past my growing fatigue. "Poor Hee-chan, stuck with us mere mortals! Bet I'm not looking like such a bad partner now, huh?"

Heero's eyes once again found mine, even more piercing with the added frown of confusion. "You were never a bad partner."

I blushed, the eye contact adding intensity to a complement that I knew to be false. "Sure, that's why you tried so hard to avoid me," I replied, trying to keep my tone carefree. "Do I even have to mention how many times you've called me baka? I do know what that means, by the way. I practically had to trick you into working with me!"

Heero actually seemed embarrassed at that, and as I looked deeply into his eyes, I felt like I was being allowed to see a very intimate part of him. Only then did it really strike me how much Heero had changed, not since I had last seen him, but since I had first met him. He seemed more human and relatable than the ultimate teen soldier I'd once faced off against, and I dared fancy that I had played a part in that tentative evolution.

"Duo," he started gravely, struggling even after a long pause, "I was the baka. It took time and experience for me to realize that working together had advantages over working alone. And I'm not... the easiest person to get along with. I should have tried harder."

My breath had picked up a little, but the last thing my exhausted mind needed was more oxygen, my head was spinning enough as it was! I focused on braiding my wet hair for long seconds, trying to balance my swirling emotions; until I'd finished the braid, then forced myself to return Heero's gaze. I carefully asked the question at the forefront of my mind.

"Are you trying harder now?" I breathed, barely understanding the full magnitude of what I was asking.

Heero stood and moved to sit on the bed with me. Even as I tensed up, I scooted back a little to make room and watched him as he crossed his legs under him. Our eyes met again, and Heero nodded, a strange contradiction between bold and shy. "I want to be friends, with you."

I chuckled at that, not sure what I had been expecting but immensely relieved anyway. "There's no problem on that count, Heero," I teased, patting his knee. "I've been your friend for ages already, you just didn't notice."

But Heero's hand darted out to take mine, "And now I'm yours too," he said with such sincerity that I think my crush doubled in strength in the breadth of a painful heartbeat. Despite my joking, his words meant a lot to me. I liked to pretend that I had lots of friends, but I could count my _real_, got-your-back friends on one hand – Howard, Quatre, Hilde, and now Heero. Everyone else had either died or faded away, or had never been a real friend at all. And Heero, bless him, probably didn't have any friends at all, unless Relena qualified.

I squeezed Heero's hand back, "Thanks, man."

Heero's small, uneven smile was as goofy on his normally stoic face as my idiot grin probably was on mine – which I eventually interrupted with a gigantic yawn. Followed promptly with another.

"Rough day?" Heero actually teased! He was looking at me with such affection that my defenses slipped a little, knowing that I was safe enough to feel really, really _tired_.

"Har, har," I returned, leaning back on my bed and closing my eyes briefly. "I really coulda done without the riots and trip through the sewers. Violence followed by feces always takes a toll."

There was a short pause, and I pretended Heero was smiling. "It is unfortunate how frequently one follows the other..." I just grunted sleepy amusement, and he eventually continued his awkward foray into small talk, "The footage from your skirmishes with the other racers, you should watch it. You're an excellent pilot."

"Thanks. Though I'm sure you woulda brought some stiff competition, if you'd entered," I mumbled. "I might notta bet so much anyway..." Okay, so maybe my eyes were closed more than just briefly, and I felt myself drifting off. The bed dipped as Heero shifted towards the edge and gently straightened my legs.

When he spoke next, his voice was close to my ear, but it did not startle for once. "May I call you some time?"

My lips quirked up with sleepy pleasure, feeling a blanket cover me. "I'd like that," I murmured, only half consciously.

"Next time then," came his quiet farewell before left me to rare contented dreams. It almost felt like the good old days, except that they were never this good.

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	6. The Great L2 Strike

Chapter 6: The Great L2 Strike

"Patently unclear, if it's New York or New Year: God help the beast in me." – Nick Lowe, The Beast in Me

Relena Peacecraft left the next day, taking Heero with her and leaving me to the mess I had made.

The Unionists wasted no time capitalizing upon the unrest spawned by my Beltway victory speech. Small protests spontaneously flared up, and a couple of marches were organized. Everyone and their brother wanted to meet with me, for every reason in the solar system, but I was just trying to backpedal as quickly as possible. For nearly a week following the race, only my established customers were allowed into my garage, and I only took non-business calls from Quatre, Howard, and Hilde – all of whom sympathized with my views of the L2 government, but deemed my recent speech unwise in the extreme. I did not leave the Dungeon, spending my time obsessing about and adding even more security, as the number of break-in attempts skyrocketed. I suspected the paparazzi behind most of the poorer attempts, and possibly Soko's men behind the better ones. It was like living in a small but unassailable fortress, which I appreciated that for the most part, when it did not feel like a prison.

At the dawn of the second week, I watched the news vids as Katrina Petrovsky publically announced plans for an unprecedented strike of all the unions, should certain demands remain unmet. Shocked at the speed and gravity of developments, and still trying to find equilibrium in this new political environment, I finally returned the daily messages from the President of the Unions Alliance.

"Duo!" she enthused immediately, with all the focus of someone who had considered beforehand the best way to approach another. "I'm glad you called, things have gotten really busy over here thanks to you!"

I glared at her, a little offended and a lot concerned. "This is not exactly what I had in mind, and you better not be telling people that your strike is my idea! Damn, Katrina, don't you think this is a little much? Your demands are completely unreasonable! There's not a single one that could be accomplished within two weeks." (Completely true considering the list included a substantial minimum wage, quality health care and education for all, full government transparency, provisions to reduce police brutality and incarceration levels, widespread repair to the colony infrastructure, and a drastic shift in the tax burden from the many poor to the few wealthy.)

Katrina shrugged. "We would accept indications that the change process had begun. But it doesn't matter, Soko wouldn't take any of our demands seriously, unless they were token concessions. These demands do, however, serve to inform the public what we are working for, and demonstrate the need for a strike to force action. Right now, everyone is energized, and with a little push, that energy can be channeled in the right direction. The atmosphere is ripe for revolution!"

"The atmosphere is also ripe for mass violence!" I retorted forcefully, appalled and disappointed in someone who I had almost admired. Somehow, days of reflection had reluctantly brought me around to Relena's opinions on the whole L2 matter. War wasn't even a year cold, and here we were considering rebellion again.

Katrina just stared stonily at me. "Violence might be inevitable," she said finally, unknowingly echoing words that I had told Heero a little over a week ago. "Soko, the system, it won't change until it has to, until someone or something makes them change. A strike is less violent than the alternatives."

It was hard to argue against some of my own logic, but I knew my argument was more with how she was going about her resistance and not with the fact that she was organizing one. "That might be true, but what you're talking about, a full out strike of all the unions, would be disastrous! Food would stop coming in, water and air would not be recycled, sewage wouldn't be processed... The rich'll survive, as always, and we're the ones that'll be left starving and dying from some preventable plague!"

"Maybe people are ready to die for change," Katrina replied hotly, fully channeling the passion that burned wildly just below the surface. "We may not be dropping like flies at this very moment, but we've been living on this shitty colony too! We know that our lives are constantly in danger, we all know people that have died from neglect or 'silencing'... and we know we're being exploited at every turn. Most of us don't want to keep living and dying in like this, under Soko's fucking totalitarian regime, but it's so entrenched that nothing short of absolute refusal can stop this damned forward momentum!"

I knew I was playing the Devil's Advocate, but this all just felt and sounded a little too familiar. "Don't you see that it's exactly that mentality that leads to all-out war? Did we not lose enough people in the last one? Frankly, I'm surprised L2 can even afford to continue losing denizens for no gain."

I hadn't really intended it, but I think my words came across as sarcastic and condescending anyway. Katrina's cheeks colored, clearly losing the last of her patience with me. "What would you know, Maxwell? Barricading away in your garage, _hiding_, refusing to answer calls? You haven't had a taste of the real L2 since before the War. In the meantime, we've continued to struggle against a man that is bleeding us of all we got! If not now, then fucking when?"

I was both outraged at her gall and a little embarrassed by the undeniable truths; if she was playing me, she was unbelievably good. "Damn it, Katrina," I sighed, torn in my reaction and suddenly impatient to get to the point. "What do you want from me? I can tell you already that I'm neither going to spearhead this effort, nor be its mascot."

Katrina eyed me critically, her closed-off expression only barely hiding her wild emotions. "I expected you to say that," she said with unnerving confidence. "So we agreed, the union leaders and I, that we want you to act as our Negotiator."

NO!, my gut reacted, at the same time as my mind kaleidoscoped into a dozen intriguing possibilities. Maybe, must maybe, there was some peaceful way out of this distasteful and dangerous situation... Yet I couldn't neglect one discouraging acknowledgement: I blew more hot air than a leaky balloon. I could blab from dusk to dawn, sure, but it was generally a long dribble of manic if entertaining nonsense, designed to engage without revealing weakness. I had no background in negotiation, though this might be my only chance to divert the direction of current events. Who else would be fair? Could anyone else be trusted to safely navigate these hard-headed L2ers to both a peaceful and just resolution?

After a long hesitation, holding back the urge to blurt out an immediate rejection, I managed to fumble out, "I think someone like Relena Peacecraft might be better suited to that role, or even Quatre Winner. My negotiation strategies generally involve Gundams."

"Yeah right," Katrina responded instantly, with obvious resentment. "Her Highness and his Wealthiness would hardly be interested in such _insignificant_ goings-on..." She paused then, and almost looked like she was trying to compose herself. "That aside, we can't afford to have an outside negotiator. We're in this bloody mess because we can't trust those in power, and because no one outside L2 gives a shit that we're being exploited. We don't need someone to sweep in, fix our problems, and leave as though something had actually happened. No, we need to fix them ourselves in order to have lasting change, and to have confidence in the new order... Plus, there is the added challenge of finding someone that Soko would have to respect. Considering that he made all those photo-ops with you, he needs to at least _pretend_ to respect you."

Those mostly truths severely limited our options, and I wanted to curse myself for being so easily convinced, despite my misgivings. "I can't believe you're talking me into this," I snapped unhappily. "This is going to be a complete, utter disaster. You can be forgiven for overestimating my gift for gab, but you are definitely overestimating the Prime Minister's opinion of me."

"Psh! Soko looks down on everyone, but he won't be able to ignore you. Whatever else, you are no pushover." Her expression had morphed quickly into one of complete sincerity, but I glared at her nonetheless, recognizing a master play when it smacked me in the face. The President of the Union Alliance had played her cards perfectly, and in the span of a single short conversation had convinced me into a world of trouble. This is exactly why I had not returned any of her earlier calls! What a manipulative bitch!

For long seconds I squinted crossly at her, and she stared back sympathetically... then her mask cracked, and her lip curled up just a little. "I'll be in touch with the details."

Then the screen went black.

I growled in frustration, actually punching at the air in front of me. I had come back to L2 to get away from the fighting, and now I was bowling straight into some real ugly-looking trouble. In a short moment of indulgent self-pity, I wished Heero was here; then I pushed such weakness away and went back to my latest commission. I had to do some serious strategizing, and I knew of no better method of deep thinking than building a magnificent engine.

The very next day the Union Alliance announced their choice of negotiator, to such widespread approval that even Soko eventually agreed and talks were scheduled to begin in five days. I think the real kicker came when the Vice Foreign Minister publically supported this suggestion, in a move that surprised even me, given our last conversation. The vidcall that followed later that same day, however, was distinctly unsurprising.

The very first words out of her mouth were, "I'm taking a real risk here."

I rolled my eyes. "Hello, Relena."

"But I think you just might be the perfect person for this," she was looking at me rather shrewdly, in a way that had me immediately questioning the intricacies of her motivation. She was definitely a woman with a plan, which was not entirely comforting. Why do I keep getting recruited into other people's schemes?

"I doubt it. The Unions are making wildly unreasonable demands, and the Prime Minister wouldn't budge a centimeter even if they were reasonable," I complained, feeling tired just thinking about being in the middle of this slow-festering mulch. "Finding common ground will be next to impossible."

"Probably," Relena conceded too easily. "A strike may even be inevitable, but I think that you are the person best positioned to avoid violence."

I arched an eyebrow skeptically, "Avoid, your highness? This is L2."

Relena nodded her concession, "Well, 'minimize' may have been a better choice of wording."

I sighed and listlessly brushed loose hair away from my face; irritation was slowly creeping in. "What's your interest in this anyway?" What I really meant was, what game are you playing?

Finally, Relena's diplomatic demeanor betrayed the slightest discomfiture, and she took a long moment before responding somberly, with carefully selected words, "I have been doing my homework since I left L2. I knew the colony was poor, and now I have a better understanding of why... I want to help, but the political situation is so precarious that I have to be very careful. All the colonies and a fair number of Earth nations are pushing against the ESUN government, so our power is limited strictly to federal matters. Right now this is a local matter."

We searched each other's eyes for long moments, as though we could glimpse the future there. I wanted to ask what exactly qualified as a federal matter, but _that_ would have qualified as criminal conspiracy. Instead I just nodded, "I think we understand each other."

Relena relaxed then, and actually offered a friendly, if relieved smile. An awkward silence stretched before Relena visibly switched tracks and looked almost speculative, "Heero has a very high opinion of you."

That was nice to hear, especially as it insinuated that 01 was playing a role in Relena's current machinations. That idea prompted my thoughts to glance uneasily over the similarity between her and my positions vis-à-vis Yuy: both pathetically crushing after the perfectly disinterested soldier, indulging in the scraps of attention afforded us. The last thing I wanted to do was turn into Relena, I decided, nor did I want to talk to Relena about Heero.

"Give him a hug for me," I joked, just a little wistfully. "If you can sneak one in."

Relena giggled in response, ominously annoying enough for me to immediately initiate farewell procedures, which quickly ended with a black vidscreen. The subject of Heero tempted me to get lost in pleasant thoughts and fantasies, but I easily recognized my own diversion tactic: the need to prepare for the negotiations waited in the background as patiently as an approaching hurricane, demanding attention or threatening disaster. I could not be as flippant about the upcoming hurdle as I had been before the Dungeon's opening and the Beltway Race; I did not have the same easy confidence, nor the casual belittlement of the consequences.

My first move was to call Quatre and milk him for as much information and advice as possible – though this necessitated almost a half hour explanation of how I, of all people, had been made negotiator. It was tough going, considering that I agreed with most of Quatre's concerns, but I had little faith in any other possibilities nominated from L2's political swamp.

My next step was to hit the public records and news archives to brush up on L2's recent history, which was simultaneously dry and outrageous. I also took the time to actually identify some of the callers I had ignored, of which several were politicians, powerful business men, and other public figures of note. I contacted a handful to solicit their thoughts and positions, and then a couple more simply to practice my hurriedly developed "negotiation skills". I also listened morosely to the message from foreman responsible for the construction of the Father Maxwell Memorial Orphanage. Though almost complete, Soko had cut off all funds and forbidden any further work of any kind, volunteer or otherwise. I was pissed, but I tried to focus on the bigger picture. The orphans would have to wait, as always.

And that was about all I had time for before I was thrust upon the Big Day. It felt as though the last few days had passed at an accelerated speed, and only now jerked back to a normal progression. I stood across from a video camera, at the head of long, expensive table. I drowned my apprehension in anger as my eyes ran glanced over the Union leaders standing on one side of the table, and then the Prime Minister's team on the other side.

"Prime Minister Soko, Unions Alliance President Petrovsky, distinguished co-councils," I greeted pompously, looking rather hatefully at both leaders, and anyone else who dared meet my eye. This is how I live my whole fucking life, isn't it? Never ready for anything, I just jump in and hope to God I can figure out how to swim. Fuck! I interrupted any response by abruptly sitting, and rudely continued, "Let's get this show on the road then... President Petrovsky, what are the demands?"

"Nothing less than justice and equality," she deadpanned. And that is an excellent example of the kind of bullshit that splattered the next three days of negotiations. Every hour was an excruciating nightmare that oscillated between argumentative, thinly veiled insults and a false, passive-aggressive hyper-politeness – neither of which accomplished anything worthwhile. A handful of times, I barely managed to keep the two groups from jumping across the table to maul each other, and once I actually had to manhandle a couple grab-happy assholes back to their seats! The Unionists were brazen and provocative, but the government pricks barely concealed their complete contempt for both the Unionists and their own constituents. I would've been happy to rip out the vocal chords of each and every person in that room, but I could also recognize that Soko's position was even less flexible than that of the Unionists. He had to give them _something_ if he hoped to avoid a strike, as there was surely a limit on how long verbal diarrhea could hope to forestall conflict.

Towards the end of that third day, a terrible possibility dawned on me, one that I sensed almost immediately to be the truth.

"You want a strike," I growled at Soko, my eyes narrowing sharply as I broke from my role as negotiator. This was met with a beat of hushed gasps, followed by a sudden outbreak of yelling from both sides – which of course I had to pacify before turning my attention back to the Prime Minister.

Soko met my glare with his own barely concealed hostility, apparently abandoning any pretense of cooperation. He had spoken only rarely during the proceedings, suspiciously so, but did deign to respond to the current charge. "Want? No, it is not ideal. But it is a matter of principal. I refuse to negotiate with terrorists."

_Again_ with the scandalized gasps and mock-offended retorts, which by now I found more irritating than the insults. I wanted to say something else, something even farther beyond the scope of my role, but I paused for too long and Katrina took that as leave to speak.

"I don't buy that for a minute, Prime Minister. You've negotiated with all sorts of people," she said in a low deadly voice. She too had, until now, left most of talking to her team, but now she sounded every bit like a predator circling in for the kill. "I agree with Negotiator Maxwell. You want this strike. You think you'll be able to take advantage of the damage and chaos. You're so unpopular these days, even corruption can't save this regime. But after a few thousand people die and we're all in danger of environmental failure, you'll storm in and save the day. The strikers will be killed, your constituents will be weakened, and you'll be free to consolidate your power for another decade."

My eyes flew back to Soko's mulish expression, his fleshy lips twisting unpleasantly, and I knew that both Katrina and my gut were right. Negotiating with the Unions would require him to yield power, while either a failed strike or a forced beatdown would allow him an even stronger grip on L2. With that understanding came regret, as I felt my last, weak claim to neutrality fade away. I wished desperately he would simply shut the fuck up, because I just knew that the next words out of him mouth would provoke me to –

"You cannot win here," he said bluntly, disdainfully. "'Do not blame the stone you break yourself against.'"

"Enough!" I jumped to my feet, overturning my chair in the process, truly offended for the first time in these proceedings. "How dare you use the Great Leader's words to defend yourself? The original Heero Yuy was a pacifist, he would never condone your actions! He believed in peace, cooperation, and compromise."

The Prime Minister sneered, and worse, I saw that the rest of his team wore similar expressions. A reluctant resolve grew in my chest, that I could no longer tolerate these pricks in positions of power. I glared at the men, ignoring the watchful Unionists, and bit out, "These negotiations are over. The strike will proceed as scheduled."

Soko stood quickly, facing me with open hatred, and I acknowledged my own foolishness at ever agreeing to work with him. What kind of man would use orphans as casual bargaining chips? He was so spiteful and contemptuous that there was something a little sociopathic about it. Soko's team followed him to their feet, and then so did everyone else, decibels escalating quickly.

"You'll regret siding with them, terrorist," Soko hissed to my surprised face, before turning heal and making a quick exit, never once looking at the Unionists. His council followed him out, jeering and inciting a couple Unionists to angrily hurl their datapads at the retreating legs.

Katrina, of course, saddled up to me immediately, frowning harshly. "We should all consider hiring bodyguards, especially you. This is going to get real ugly real quick. Soko's playing a more dangerous game than I realized, and he'll probably come after us pretty soon."

I could barely bring myself to care about her words, still caught up in my anger and frustration. I could not restrain the aggravated sigh before muttering bitterly, "Well, you got what you wanted. I'm on your side."

"Don't blame me if you've finally seen what sort of man you've been consorting with," she retorted sharply, never one to coddle.

I teetered between more resentment and misery with my quiet reply, "I always suspected... but he was rebuilding Maxwell Orphanage. Now they'll be lucky to survive the upcoming rioting and scarcity."

Katrina understood the implications immediately, her harsh expression softening with an unwelcome pity – though I'm famous enough that her knowledge of my history was hardly surprising. I just scowled, turning away from her searching eyes, but I could still feel their weight on the back of my head for slow-moving seconds.

Finally her shoes sounded her departure, and she tossed over her shoulder, "We strike in a week. Don't get killed before that, we got work to do. And for fuck's sake, take your calls in the meantime."

Fuckity fuck. What a disaster.

I slowly made my own trip to the door, but locked it instead of passing through. Then I returned to my fallen chair, righted it lethargically, and dropped down on its seat. I sat there morosely for a couple hours, ignoring equally the pounding on the door and in my head. When I finally left the building, there were only a few dogged reporters still hanging around to pose the expected question. There was only real one that needed answering, "Duo Maxwell! Duo Maxwell! Whose side are you on?"

I stopped my hasty retreat to answer that one, attempting to stand tall and appear strong. After the Beltway Race, my local fame and popularity were greater than ever, and what I said now would matter – however ill equipped I was to be influencing others in these matters. "I'll be supporting the strike. I didn't want to get involved at first, cuz the Unions've never done anything for me, cuz they kept me out of legitimate jobs when I was... too young to be working, really. I don't agree with everything they do, but I at least believe in their good intentions. Unfortunately, Prime Minister Soko has proven completely unwilling to compromise, casting serious doubt on his motives. As the late Great Leader Yuy said, 'Without compromise we are no more than brutes, living our lives at the expense of others.' It is dangerous to have such a brute in power."

The reporters' eyes went wide, having been rewarded well for their evening wait. I didn't stick around for any follow-up questions, though it did feel good to throw some Yuy scripture back at Soko. I might be a street rat and a terrorist, but I had studied the Great Leader. Sister Helen had admired him immensely, and so did I eventually, despite knowing, even as a child, that I'd been born to a different and irreconcilable path. As I drove through the dim streets, my thoughts slowly danced towards _my_ Heero, which was more familiar territory in the face of this eminent disaster. It was certainly not the first time I had wished for the Perfect Solider's presence right before the shit hit the fan.

I punched in my security code, underwent a retinal scan, and then used my card to key open the thick steel door to the garage. Once inside, I secured the old school wooden bar in the brackets that were cemented to either side of the door. It was overkill, _maybe_, but the extra security definitely made me feel better (always safest to have a physical locking mechanism, in addition to quasi-vulnerable electronic security systems). Katrina was right, this was going to get ugly, and I would certainly be a primarily target. My background had primed me for wartime thinking, but L2 was dangerous and violent enough for me to feel justified in my militant understanding of the situation. I had already set up a couple small safe houses in other neighborhoods.

I had not been home in two nights, so I walked over to the small desk in the garage and checked my messages. Seventy three, some of which I recognized as reporters, politicians, customers, and neighbors; and from Hilde Schbeiker, Relena Peacecraft, Chang Wufei, Quatre Winner, and Lady Une (?). For a moment it was overwhelming to think how bad I must've fucked up for everyone to be leaving impassioned pleas for me to call them back. In a concession to defensive immaturity, I let my built up anger explode outwards and actually yelled at the black screen, "Fuck off! Here I am in this mess, ALL ALONE! You assholes all have something to say? Well, you can bloody well come and say it in person! I don't need any backseat insurgents!"

Then I punched the control panel, bruising a couple knuckles in the process, and the pain actually helped inspire a little rationality. Fuck, I was lonely and frustrated, and so tired of feeling that way; but, as always, there was nothing to do but steal myself against such weakness and persevere. What other option did I have? I couldn't just crawl into a corner and die like a stray dog that's been beat too much...

I dragged myself up to my little apartment and collapsed in the bed, a crushing depression quickly drowning me in sleep. I just couldn't bare to think of this mess any longer. Politics, with its slow moving violence, was proving almost as stressful and aggravating than the blatant bloodshed of war. Half-memories and dreams lingered on my battlefield days, on Shinigami razing his victims, so that I woke several times in a freezing sweat. I was self aware enough to recognize manifestations my own fear: I was terrified of my own role in unfolding events. Was I really willing to be a central figure in another vicious conflict? Was I even capable of leading without turning back into the murderous monster that I had just spent nine months putting to sleep?

I woke almost twenty hours later, feeling simultaneously rested and restless. I took a quick shower, dressed in my black fatigues, then sat down to check all seventy-three messages – which only inspired me to set up a restricted local number that would allow the Unionists to actually reach me during this crisis. That took well over an hour, plus another hour to return the only two necessary calls. The first one was to Hilde.

She bitched at me for a good ten minutes before I was able to get a word in edgewise. It was going to be hard to convince her to do anything while this angry, but I knew the chick well enough to do it.

"... blah blah, you're always running off with no plan, blah blah, no concern for the people who worry about you, blah blah, keeping me in the dark, blah blah, then _I'm_ gonna be the one that has come rescue you –"

"Hilde! Stop!" I finally interrupted. I really didn't have time for her venting, however much I deserved it. "You won't be rescuing me this time. You need to get off L2 completely, even your father's place isn't safe."

"In your dreams, Duo Maxwell. I'm gonna stay here and save your sorry ass again!" That familiar stubborn expression cemented itself onto her face, forcing my cerebral cogs to shift into high gear. I would need a good reason for her to leave, a reason that she would buy...

"No, you're not," I returned evenly, in my most professional tone. My own guilt and worry snapped into the current dilemma like puzzle pieces. "I've got enough backup on the colony, what I really need is someone to coordinate evacuation efforts."

That stopped her just as I had hoped, and I took advantage of her temporary bewilderment to press forward. "Hilde, I'm gonna be honest. This is probably gonna get ugly, and I'm have some measure of responsibility for what happens. If I'm gonna do this, I need to know that we have done everything to minimize the suffering."

Hilde's stubborn expression gave way to something that bordered on fearful. "Wha-what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to contact Howard and get his help to organize an evacuation of the most vulnerable colonists – the orphans, the elderly, the hospitalized, you know who I'm talking about. You'll have to keep it unofficial, but I doubt Soko will care even if he notices. This is important though, Hilde, _please_."

Hilde rotated her jaw for a few seconds, working out something, before answering, "Damn you, Duo. I can't say no to that."

I was as relieved for her help on this effort as I was that she would be off-colony when the shitstorm really hit. Which left me to confront the other person on my call list.

Katrina Petrovsky gave me a full rundown on the preparations for the strike, and where she expected trouble. The woman is sharp as a shank, I'll give her that: she knew that the poorest neighborhoods would erupt into violence as resources became scarce, and that both the human services and sanitation unions had the community ties to potentially mobilize the underclass. We went over the finer points of my own involvement, from rallying support through public appearances to planning and possibly directing an "armed defensive". She didn't need to elaborate much on that; we both knew that if pushed to this "armed defensive", an armed offensive would not be far behind. I would have to show the Unionist leaders my safe houses, and drill them with the contingency plans.

Over the next handful of days, I gave speeches at three of L2's biggest factories; the two biggest ports; the biggest hospital and environmental control centers; the biggest power and recycling plants; at L2's Colonial University (where I had to leave early due student fighting); and in front of an emergency gathering of the small business owners (by far the greediest allies on my circuit). I spoke of our collective power and our need to stand up for ourselves against decades of injustice; then I asked them to join us on the picket line, and to volunteer for other duties. I was driven around in an armored car, for my own safety, paid for by the Unions. People were afraid and angry and excited and hopeful all at the same time, so that the streets cackled with constant nervous energy as I rolled by. The news feeds reported several spontaneous outbreaks of violence at certain neighborhood borders, but it wasn't escalating yet.

I reluctantly announced the temporary closure of the Dungeon, which was necessary given my own time restraints and need for security – as well as the fact that my controversial political involvement was now scaring off clients. Who'd want the hassle of wading through the throng of media, protesters, supporters, and generally disgruntled locals that appeared to have taken up residence outside my garage doors? Every time I pushed through that crowd, I feared for my life and swore that I would figure out some safer way to get in and out of my home, but that never happened...

I did manage to touch base with Relena Peacecraft, who demanded a count-by-count of the negotiations before subtly reiterating that she would be watching, waiting for the opportunity to intervene legally. I didn't put too much faith in her help, though she did ask, "Do you want me to have Lady Une reassign Heero to you? There has been some concern over your safety."

God, how I wanted to say yes, but I had no good reason beyond the realm of pathetic selfishness for wanting Heero with me; especially considering that I had repeatedly refused the bodyguards that Katrina kept trying to assign me. So I forced myself to shake my head and even sound light-hearted, "No. I'm sure the Preventors have him on much more important work. He'd kill me himself if I let you pull him off something important for a boring babysitting job."

For a moment Relena just looked at me as though I had grown a second, possibly bald head. Then she blinked a couple times and continued quickly, "It was Heero who indicated the threat to your safety. And Winner also expressed concern."

I snorted at that. I had temporarily stopped checking messages on my main number, and had no doubt that Quatre had left several recordings. I would've felt more guilt if I didn't feel so damn _harassed_ by everyone and everything. Relena just frowned at my interruption, but continued with an extra burst of vigor, "I think Heero knows as well as me that, when a Gundam pilot is involved, the chances of events staying boring are pretty minimal. Especially in your case."

I felt a little thrill at the idea of Heero's concern, though it surely came at the expense of being considered incapable of taking care of myself. Still, I couldn't deny the truth of Relena's last words, recognizing that my troubles were due to multiply the next day when the strike began. None of the other pilots had gotten themselves into such a predicament, I hadn't even managed to go legit for a single damn year.

With a groan I conceded, "This is going to be messy. But I'm a big boy, I _can_ take care of himself. It's everyone else we need to worry about, especially the union leaders. Soko is a trigger-happy dictator... and I think L2 may have more weapons per person than any other concentration of civilians!"

It was meant sorta as a joke (though I have looked it up since, and it is true), but Relena just shook her head. "Only you fall under Preventor jurisdiction, because of your status as a former Gundam pilot. Until they can be proven criminally corrupt or incompetent, the local government and police are solely responsible for the protection of local politicians and the general population."

I snorted. "The past corruption and incompetence is not enough proof?"

"No," she returned bluntly. "Technically, that was the previous administrations; and unprosecuted at that."

Now I rolled my eyes, plain fidgety flaring again into frustration as I crossed my arms in front of my chest. "Look, I'll do what I can to keep this legit. I know that's what Petrovsky wants too, but this thing is easily beyond anyone's control. We might as well be playing with matches and explosives."

"I know," Relena placated. "You're doing the best you can."

"That's right," I returned, failing to keep the pout out of my voice.

Relena smiled at me indulgently. "Get some sleep, Duo. Tomorrow's your big day."

The strike started pretty much as expected. Tens of thousands of people failed to go to work, and most of them congregated outside of workplaces armed with pickets and righteous indignation. I met up with Katrina to head the largest gathering, in front of the Prime Minister's Office. The building was located in a very wealthy financial district, and the hostility of the rich and powerful dripped down on us from every high reaching edifice.

Katrina made a short rallying speech, as did I, then we turned the makeshift stage and the microphone over to a stream of public testimonials from long suffering workers. A continuing lack of response from inside the building turned any potential for violence into a lethargic boredom. After a while I stopped listening to the sad stories, and instead studied the people, _my_ people. There were a lot of disabled, elderly and women, so that I had to concede that the wars, and L2 life itself, had killed a disproportionate number of our young men. The men and women that survived to stand here had done so by keeping their heads down and working hard, in a dangerous and exploitive system; and it showed in their rough skin and bent backs. That night I barely slept, haunted by their faded faces every time I closed my eyes.

The next day went pretty much the same way, except that the air was cooler and faintly stale – a depressingly familiar sign of the environmental controls running under the partial power of a skeleton crew. Unlike a planet, with natural systems for maintaining equilibriums, things fall apart pretty fucking fast on a space station unless thousands of people work to keep it running. Indeed, the very _next_ day, the smell of sewage crept through the colony, and that's when the tensions really started to escalate. Katrina and I began fielding the inevitable calls from union and strike leaders regarding their deteriorating control over the situation. One group was consumed by in-fighting, while another group was throwing projectiles at the work building, and yet another was apparently taken to chanting obscenities and indecent threats. Our own crowd in front of the Prime Minister's Office had attracted a lot of angry people who were definitely not union, some of whom were drunk and all downright unruly.

On the fifth day of the strike, still quite early in the morning, a giant explosion rocked all of L2. The vibration knocked most to the ground, but I managed to keep upright, eyes quickly spotting the thick mushroom of smoke in the distance. With the colony's walls sloped upward, it wasn't too hard to figure that the smoke was coming from the main campus of L2's Colonial University. The population there was divided on the strike, and there was no telling from this distance who had been the target.

"2CU," I growled to Katrina, when she got to her feet, her radio crackling in the background. She, however, was glancing around at the more immediate problem: everyone else was getting to their feet and panicking. Somebody pushed past me, making me stumble as much from the push as the shock of surprise. I had reacted calmly and naturally to the devastating explosion, but it was the ensuring human chaos that almost overwhelmed me for a brief second.

Most people were scattering, but a good number had brandished weapons and were rushing the Prime Minister's Office. I had a split second of indecision before I jumped off the stage and ran to intervene, but the frightened crowd slowed my progress, and more of them were pulling out weapons. I shouldn't have been so disappointed at just how _prepared _for violence the population was, especially considering that I too had brought a weapon to this 'peaceful' strike. I dodged the people as fast as I could yelling, "Get outta the way! Get the fuck outta the way!"

I got to the stairs of the building in time to see a man toss a Molotov Cocktail (what the fuck?) at the front doors. "STOP!" I bellowed, but I was barely noticed amidst the chaos and screaming. A teenage punk threw something heavy through the closest window, just as I tackled her to the stairs. A second later, an automatic spray of bullets bit into the crowd, and a dozen people dropped to the ground like fallen puppets. Then the screaming and chaos started in earnest.

"Get down!" I yelled desperately, futilely. The purple-haired girl below me struggled to get away, but I kept her pinned and both our heads down as another spatter of bullets hit the fleeing strikers. A handful of uneven shots signaled that a couple people were weakly returning fire, before they too were killed. My own gun rested snuggly against my back, tucked in my belt, but I knew there was no opportunity to use it here: in their fortified and elevated positions, the Prime Minister's men were only visible when they leaned out to shoot at those on the stairs. I rose up to a crouch to decide on an escape route, then manhandled the punk with me as I crawled across the stairs, towards the relative positional shelter of the wall.

"Run that way," I hissed to the now traumatized teen, pointing her in the right direction. "Stay close to the wall." She nodded and managed a reasonable stumbling speed. I took a quick look around to assess... there, an elderly man holding his ankle. I needed to beat a hasty retreat, but damn it if I wasn't going to bring a couple lucky fuckers with me!

I grabbed the old man and hauled him with me to the corner of the building. It looked like the punk girl had gotten through, so I adjusted my grip on the man and explained, "We're gonna run now. I got you, but you gotta help as much as you can. Okay?"

"I won' slow you down." That was doubtful, but I appreciated his earnestness anyway. Then we ran.

For the briefest moment there, when I again heard the rattle of automatic gunfire, I was sure that we were dead... but it only took a second for my ears to identify its distance, and then we were safely concealed by the building across the way. I spotted a few people in windows and peaking around buildings and vehicles, but the streets had emptied with unprecedented speed. I helped grandpa hobble to a nearby stoop to sit, then pointed at the phone in his pocket. "Call the hospital. Or your doctor, or anybody that can help us. The survivors need attention, not more panic."

I left him to that thankless task and turned back to the square in front of the Prime Minister's Office. There looked to be close to fifty bodies, at least a few of which appeared to be showing signs of life.

I quickly moved my gun from my belt and secured it to my calf, then I stripped off my over and under- shirts. I used the white undershirt as a flag, and cautiously walked back into the square, bare-chested and hands reaching for the sky. The soldiers would almost certainly recognize me by my braid, but I hoped that fact would make them less likely to fire. The richies and the politicians had selfish reasons to hate me, but I knew I was pretty popular amongst L2's police and security forces. A lot of those guys had fought in one of wars, and understood in a way that civilians never could. Hopefully that stacked up sufficiently against their paychecks.

I walked forward slowly, past several bullet-ridden bodies, but only as far as the first surviving striker. The silhouettes of shooters could be seen through several windows, and I spotted helmets and gun barrels on the roof, but little movement. I slowly lowered myself to the woman at my feet; her torso was soaked in blood and her breaths came in worrying rasps, her eyes barely open.

"Listen," I ordered quietly, trying to sound reassuring. "I'm gonna get you outta here, but no sudden movements. They're still watching." Her only reaction was to blink, so I wrapped one arm around her shoulders and the other under her legs. It took all my strength to get to my feet with her not unsubstantial weight, so that my back, legs, and arms were all trembling as I carried her back to the shelter of the neighboring building. It was not a smooth trip, and she lost consciousness on the way.

Katrina had found her way there and helped me lay the woman on the ground, then inspected her wounds as I took a moment to sit and breathe heavily. I was perhaps unjustifiably relieved by her presence, considering that I probably knew more battlefield medicine than she did. "Any word through the radio?"

Katrina nodded, finally turning away from the woman and staring unhappily at me. Only then did I really take in how awful she looked, face smeared with tears and blood. "Most of the groups panicked and scattered after the explosion, but Peetah and Kazi were both close to 2CU. They took the strikers to help with the wounded... The police fired on them, and the students."

Instead of feeling the pain of her words, I forced myself back to my feet. "Is medical help, fuck, any help, on the way?"

"Dana isn't too far. Most of the strikers have fled, but she's bringing the rest here to help."

I nodded, turned, and walked mechanically back to the square, again raising my hands high. The Prime Minster's Office looked a little less deadly, with the gunners on the roof out of sight, and those in the windows having lowered their machine guns. Stepping over the dead bodies, I just felt hollow and that was better than feeling anything else right then; even Shinigami's rage could only have hindered this task of mercy.

A sound behind me made me twist my head back to see Katrina carefully following me, bless her balls of steal, stripped down to an undershirt and hands reaching upwards. I'm willing to bet she still had a weapon concealed on her somewhere, just nowhere easily visible. Then we eyed the shooters again before cautiously moving closer.

Together we managed to check all the corpses, and haul the thirteen remaining survivors to the safety of a nearby department store. A couple of people with questionable credentials materialized to help care for the injured, and I knew enough battlefield medicine to bandage wounds. Dana Jackson eventually showed with twenty trusted strikers and two ambulances, complete with striking medics. The medics took over care for the wounded, and, after a short street conference, Dana's people took on the remaining job – handling the dead. Between the strike and the ensuing chaos, there was no one else to transport or dispose of the dead, or to identify bodies and inform family. Figuring that most hospital personnel were either participants or supporters of the strike, we agreed that the Central Morgue was still the best place to take the bodies, and confirmed this decision with anyone else we could reach through the radio. The last thing any of us wanted was to guarantee a plague by improperly disposing of the dead.

Like a machine I worked alongside the strikers, silent and almost unfeeling, certainly not thinking about my own responsibility for this outcome. There is no room for advanced thinking in such situations, just a dogged determination that pushes you through a long series of short-term goals. I spent the next hour loading the dead into two vans, stacking bodies three high. Some of the strikers cried as they worked, and a couple even ended up retching on their knees; I was both grateful and regretful for a life that made the presence of corpses so commonplace. The last thing I wanted was more pain, but being inhumanly numb was still the less acceptable alternative.

When the bodies were all loaded up, Katrina told the strikers to go home, to recover and regroup until they were contacted. And _no_, don't go back to work tomorrow, and don't retaliate either. Just stay safe for the time being, so we can act smart.

Katrina, Dana, and I were left with the two vans. Katrina looked completely exhausted, and was covered in as much blood as me, but still she played the role of the tireless leader, even managing to sound concerned. "You should go rest at the agreed safe house, Duo. We can drive the vans."

"Hell no. I'm going with," I replied stonily. Now both women were looking at me with concern, and I suspected that both my appearance and behavior were noticeably off. I would've just left, to normalize on my own, but I wasn't, well, _done_ with the dead. I thought that I had toiled emotionless through this field of corpses, and yet somehow I had grown a belated feeling of responsibility for their welfare.

Katrina just sighed, while Dana took up the argument, despite her own obvious strain, "There isn't room for all three of us, all the passenger seats are occupied."

By bodies, no one needed to add.

"I'll sit on top of a passenger," my voice spoke, completely separate from my mind. Katrina and Dana both looked a little appalled by the suggestion, and even my thoughts questioned my words. I cut off any protestations but turning and climbing into the back of one of the vans. Carefully unseeing of the bodies, I perched delicately on someone's chest, knees curled under my arms. After a long pause I heard the two women move about outside, and Katrina eventually took the driver's seat in the van I occupied. Only then did I let eyes drop to the face of the body I was sitting on.

A burly man with a scar on his cheek and long, wooly hair. He seemed familiar, but I could've been imagining it. A sudden constricting agony in my chest brought an abrupt end to the numbness, though it took me long seconds to see through the pain and truly understand my need to follow the dead. They had carved out their destinies, as we all had on this tough colony, but I was still responsible for mourning them; and I had a responsibility to myself, to prove myself alive through my own grief. I only cried a little on that trip to the morgue, and silently, but it was enough for me to feel relieved by my own sorrow. Maybe this monster was part human after all.

Central Morgue was frantic and awfully crowded, probably mostly with people looking for friends or family. I helped unload the bodies, surprising both Katrina and Dana by jumping out of the van noticeably better than I had entered. Harried volunteers did appear with gurneys and took our dead from us, as I watched, a little reluctant to be so quickly rid of the evidence of today's horrors.

"Let's get outta here," Katrina ordered raggedly, spurring me into action. We piled back into one of the vans, trying to ignore the blood stains and foul smell of excrement. I drove us towards the safe house in complete silence, though Dana kept expressing useless disbelief at recent events. Our disaster plan was for all the Union leaders to regroup at the safe house that I had originally set up for my own safety. It was located in Valdia, one of the worst neighborhoods on the colony, and where I had once roamed with Solo and wolf pack. It didn't feel like home the way the old barrio had, now it just felt miserable and dangerous. I liked the irony of it being the safest place for us now.

We abandoned the van in an ally a few blocks away, and took a predetermined route to the dingy apartment. It was above a sweat shop, with hot air actually blowing up through the floorboards. Seth and Bossy were both there before us, pacing and on the edge of hysteria. I let Dana and Katrina deal with them, pushing silently past to escape to the bathroom. I stripped off the bloody clothes and threw them in the trash, then gratefully stepped under the hot water. I cleaned vigorously, but quickly, and didn't bother with the braid. The room was calmer when I opened the door and walked by in my towel. I pulled some clothes from the bag I had placed under the bed, dressed, then established a guard rotation. Satisfied enough with Seth standing watch, I collapsed on a mattress and was immediately sucked into an exhausted slumber –

At some point, I vaguely registered the sound of someone else returning to the safe house, but just turned over and went easily back to sleep...

Knock knock knock.

It had been a deep sleep and the knocking was light, but I was awake instantly, and on my feet a moment later. It was still night, and I quickly counted four people sleeping on the floor mattresses, and the fuckface Bossy who was supposed to on watch asleep in his chair. That meant one of the unionists was still missing, but everyone who was supposed to know about this place had been given the entry code, so I approached the door with my gun drawn. I looked through the peephole to see a familiar face only inches from mine, and my mouth actually dropped open in surprise. What the fuck – Heero?

Perhaps aware of my presence, Heero drew away from the door to give me a better view in the dim hall light. He was dressed very inconspicuously, with hair tucked under a cap, but it was definitely 01, and he had his hands held up as if to show me they were empty.

Keeping the gun close to my chest, I undid several deadbolts and then cracked the door. Heero blinked back at me.

"You alone?" I whispered, and Heero nodded, so I opened the door a little more and let him slide past me. I felt stupid for tingling a little from his body's sudden proximity. I secured the deadbolts again before turning to Heero and gesturing for him to follow. I took him to the bathroom, which was cramped, but it was the only place for privacy. He took the toilet lid, and I the bathtub rim.

He looked like he was going to speak, but I beat him to it, a little harshly, "What the fuck are you doing here, Heero? How'd you even find me?"

Heero, of course, was unperturbed, and answered factually. "No one I contacted had heard from you, or was able to reach you, so I traveled to L2 and broke into your garage. I cracked your safe, which provided a couple clues, as well as your computer that allowed me to trace some of your recent movements and thereby narrow the possibilities. Your security was... inventive, very impressive."

"You son of a bitch, you better not've fucked up my garage," I hissed crossly, still mindful of those sleeping in the other room. I had worked hard on my security systems, and had dared think they might be up to keeping out even the prodigious Heero Yuy. "Those were supposed to be Yuy-proof. Ever think that I didn't want you snooping through my personal stuff?" Ugh, I hope he didn't read those computer files about post traumatic stress and surviving sexual assault.

The look Heero gave me clearly indicated that concern my privacy had, indeed, never even crossed his mind.

"Lady Une was concerned for your safety, and for the outcome of this strike. Privacy did not seem an important consideration at the time," he ventured tightly. "And I did not do any damage to your garage, your safe, or your computer."

I had to smile a little at the sorta constipated expression, and forgiveness came surprisingly easily. During the battle years, privacy had meant fuckall to anyone, myself included, and I'm sure the transition to peacetime ethics had been particularly challenging for Heero.

"So Lady Une sent you?" I asked with a little skepticism, still fishing for the whole story. Heero would've had to leave Earth two days ago, at least, to be on L2 today. I didn't think that the demented psychopath liked me enough to send a top-tier security detail days before there was any concrete evidence of danger.

And just when I wouldn't have thought it possible, Heero's expression looked even more uncomfortable. "I requested."

The pieces began to fit together, and I big grin ate up my face. "You requested? Lady Une doesn't really strike me as the type to grant random radical requests to her Preventer agents."

My reaction seemed to put him at ease somewhat, and his reply was almost sheepish, "I requested rather forcefully."

God bless him, was that a joke? I was so grateful to him at that moment: for being more than another vidmessage, for not only being here but apparently, amazingly, wanting to be here. I actually allowed myself to launch across the little bathroom and wrap him in a big bear hug. His body was rigid, and he tensed noticeably in my arms, but my affection didn't waver at such an expected response. Smiling into his soft hair, I whispered through my own embarrassment, "Thanks, Heero."

Heero's body eased a little, and for a moment temptation called... I released my hold and turned away, the heat in my cheeks signaling a color change.

Tap tap.

Both our heads spun towards the door, to see it crack open and Peetah slip in, making the bathroom _really_ crowded. He glanced at me before fixing his eyes distrustfully on Heero's intimidating scowl. "Who's this?"

Checking the desire to roll my eyes at Heero's sudden change in demeanor, I made my introduction, "This is Preventer Agent Heero Yuy. Heero, this is Peetah Ali, rep for the human services union."

Peetah apparently recognized the name, as his eyes widened noticeably before he nodded to Heero and extended his hand warily. "You here to help?"

"Yes." Heero's grip was quite forceful, if Peetah's grimace was anything to go by.

"What happened?" I wasted no time is questioning. If Peetah was here, that only left the sanitation rep missing. "Where's Kazi?"

Peetah lowered his eyes, "He got to 2CU before us, and he told me over the radio that he had his people evacuating the injured. Then the police arrived and starting firing... When we got to the campus, buildings were burning and smoke made it hard to really see anything, but we kept stumbling over bodies, including..."

He trailed off, but his tense shoulders and tight lips made his meaning clear: Kazi was dead. For long seconds we just stood in heavy silence, out of respect and resignation. Heero of course was the first one to get down to work, "By my calculations, L2 can only continue functioning at this level of minimum power for another week. After that, the air will reach toxic levels of imbalance."

I frowned unhappily, my own thoughts having already ventured into this territory, and vividly recalling an earlier period of upheaval. "We have less time than that. After these shootings. . . there's gonna be rioting and more violence tomorrow. It's only a matter of time 'fore a funeral fire gets out of hand, and with only emergency staff manning the fire stations, it'll do a lot of damage. Which would include shaving a couple days off our breathable air supply. Meanwhile, Soko's people are protected in sealed buildings with independent environmental generators."

Peetah snorted softly, finally coming around to the conversation, "Soko'll wait 'til everyone's suffocating, and then come save the day like a breath of fresh air."

Frustration forced my next question to Heero, "So, have recent events qualified us for Relena's intervention yet?"

Heero met my eyes squarely. "If that's really what you want. There is reasonable cause to initiate court proceedings, but Soko would likely be found not guilty. He would argue that the shootings were defensive, in response to an attacking mob. He may even push to have charges brought against you, the former Gundam pilot that incited crowds you knew to be volatile and armed."

"Hey, it wasn't like that!" Peetah responded angrily, and loudly, but I knew that it sorta was. It was my popularity that had made the strike so thorough and absolute – that had allowed a divided and disenfranchised populace to put its angry, painful faith in the oft-maligned Union leaders. Any bureaucratic process initiated by the ESUN would likely be more concerned with assigning blame and reestablishing the status quo than actually addressing injustice.

Another knock on the door, and I was willing to bet that everyone was awake at this point. With a sigh, I pushed past the other two, and opened the door to push through the people there too. Heero and Peetah followed, and I made stiff introductions. Katrina put on her best diplomat face, which just told me she was thinking how she could use this resource to her, and our, advantage. Eventually, we all sat on the floor in an uneven circle, and stutteringly hammered out a strategy.

! ! !

Reluctantly going along with our plans, Heero hacked into L2's main broadcasting grid, so that Katrina and I could rally our forces over vid. Katrina began with an outraged but heartfelt description of yesterday's events, followed by a powerful appeal to courage and peaceful resistance. Then I stood in front of the camera and did my usual spastic verbal floundering, with escalating fervor.

"... those were your friends and your family that Soko massacred, and mine. We owe it to them, and to our own decades of suffering, to follow through with this. This is our colony, and corrupt leaders have disgraced and crippled us enough. We are many, and they are few, together we can bring the power back to the people!" Damn, I was even beginning to sound like a Unionist. If you shouted it loud enough, it almost felt like you meant it. "Tomorrow morning, we'll be back on the picket lines, with our own brand of 'self-defense'." – already the official line on the massacres.

Heero abruptly cut off the camera.

"Hey, I wasn't done!" I chided, though not really surprised.

Heero didn't look up from carefully storing his fancy camera and replied, "It seemed wise to prevent you from further alluding to terrorist activities on public record."

"Why thanks, Heero," I returned in my best Relena voice. "Just what I always needed, someone to save me from my own fat mouth!"

"Indeed," he deadpanned, but his eyes met mine again and I'd swear I recognized a glimmer of humor there. I laughed in pleasure before forcing myself to turn to the only Union leader still at the safe house. Everyone else had left to meet with their most trusted supporters, organize ongoing emergency response, and get the strike back on track – each one armed with new, untraceable (for the moment) communicators.

"Katrina."

She smiled at me softly, but recent events had dimmed her usually passionate light. Civilians just didn't take massacres in stride the way us former (current?) terrorists could. After a pause, she spoke, "You've been a godsend, Duo. At first I could only see how your influence could help us, but you have been... amazing, invaluable really. Much more than the obnoxious teenager I expected you to be." We both cracked smiles at that, before she was serious once more. "I'm sorry for using you, as necessary as it was. You deserved to come home to a better welcome than this."

I reached for her hand and squeezed it warmly, trying to lighten her apparent guilt, "No sweat. It wouldn't be L2 without a little social unrest."

Sad lips stretched for me, then Katrina's game face fell into place and she pulled away. Turning to Heero, she extended her hand for a forceful shake. "Good luck, Preventer Yuy. We're grateful for your support in our struggle."

Then she too was gone, and I was left with Heero to get ready to execute our bit of the plan – which, of course, was like everything except the crowd control part. I retreated into the bathroom to change, only to be confronted with Heero's piercing gaze when I came back out in my black priest's garb. It was hardly a sign of mental health, I know, but I felt safer in it. Even without Shinigami's possession, it offered a certain familiarity and comfort.

"Well, let's get to it," I said flippantly, uncomfortable under his disapproving stare.

I think he almost said something about my clothes, but instead turned back to his laptop. I tried not to hover too obnoxiously as I watched him hack easily into L2's sanitation mainframe. For the rest of the day, and part of the night, we studied and debated potential access points – yes, it was going to be another lovely sewer adventure. There weren't actually any blueprints for the Prime Minister's Office, but I combined the plans of a similar government structure with my own knowledge of the building to create a model of the place we would be infiltrating. I thought it looked perfectly feasible, but Heero made a point of thoroughly describing every potential for failure in unnecessary detail. I put up with it for as long as I could, and even made a herculean effort to address his every concern – but as our planning process wrapped up, I was coming to end of my patience.

"This is not a good idea," he concluded stubbornly. "There are too many unknown factors to justify such an indirect route to success."

"Indirect? How is it that _I_ am the one defending legitimacy here?" I sighed irritably, tired of trying to convince Heero and feeling frustration reminiscent of my wartime 'partnership' with him. He is naturally pig-headed, and he was distinctly displeased that the Unionists had agreed to my plan, so there was little surprise that he was being so infuriatingly contrary now. He didn't seem to mind taking risks, as long as it was on _his _terms.

"A direct confrontation with Soko could be orchestrated in which we killed him in self defense," Heero repeated. "You, or someone appropriate, would then assume his responsibilities until an election can be held."

After a moment of thought, taken while leaning against a barren wall, all I could offer was another sigh and a summary of the same arguments that Katrina and I had already articulated. "L2 doesn't need another self-imposed leader. We're going to do it legit this time, with a real election. The quickest way to do that is if the Unified government has reason to intervene on our behalf." I began warming to my words, "And I won't have that reason be more dead bodies! If Relena needs real evidence, then I'm going to the fucking source."

"_We_'re going," Heero growled, reaffirming his rare concession to doing this my way. His official mission was to provide protection to L2's hotheaded ex-Gundam pilot, and it was now requiring him to follow a plan that he refused to endorse.

Psh, the bastard needs to learn a little compromise anyway! Take a lesson from the Great Leader from whom he took his name.

"You're the worst loser ever," I returned with a small smile and a roll of my eyes. "During the war I'da done this for you in a heartbeat, without half the bitching and moaning."

Heero's face softened just perceptibly, though perhaps only to me, and I felt girly butterflies in my gut. "I wouldn't have asked you during the war, nor agreed should you have asked me. But... this peace has changed me in surprising ways."

He ducked his head then, as though hiding behind bangs that no longer existed – almost as if the great Heero Yuy was actually capable of embarrassment. I couldn't help but grin a little, trying vainly to keep it respectful as my mind scrambled for a safe (strategic?) response. "I've noticed. You're adapting and growing... I like it, peacetime suits you."

And so it was my turn to flush in embarrassment, but that's okay: Heero deserved as much honesty as I could offer. I let him watch me closely for a moment, waiting nervously for Heero to give voice to his thoughts. Finally, he spoke quietly, gravely, "I didn't think that any of us would survive the war, and I accepted that. But somehow we did survive... now, I do not consider your death, or my death, an acceptable outcome. This plan puts us, and especially you, in considerable danger."

I laughed at that, then pushed off the wall towards Heero. He eyed me warily, his body tense as always, but he let me step closer, into his personal space – into the kill zone.

In a sudden burst of motion, I sprang into a swift hug. I got my arms around his torso in the time it took him to grab my forearms. I waited a tense beat for Heero's palms to relax, and then slowly move up to my shoulders in acceptance. I pulled back before I gave myself away completely, forcing a coherent explanation for my actions. "I'm really glad you're here, Heero."

Outside, a handful of gunshots rang out, and our attention jerked away, conversation and one-sided hugging abandoned. We stood silently for a moment, listening for further sounds. We heard nothing more, but the interruption put us back on track.

"We shouldn't waste any more down time," said the Perfect Solider. (I was beginning to suspect that Heero suffered from a similar emotional disassociation as me, though I was also willing to attribute those suspicions to wishful thinking.) So we catnapped for several hours and headed out early the following morning.

The first stop was for grub. The second was at one of my personal weapons caches, in this case at a locker at the Weston General Depot. Such places did not have the stellar security at the best of times, and were sure to have even less with most of the colony on strike, but also had the incomparable advantage of anonymity. The Depot itself was practically deserted, with the exception of a cranky-looking Mrs. Weston perched at the security desk. She eyed us guardedly, but couldn't identify Heero under his baseball cap, nor me hidden by my sunglasses and hooded shirt. Our long trench coats might've looked suspicious except that the half-powered temp controls had everyone bundled up.

I snorted back a laugh, muttering to Heero, "This has got to be the first time Mz Biz has had to lower herself to something like guard duty. We're lucky she's so hell bent on making money, or we'd be breaking into this joint too."

Heero responded with his usual grunt, but I hadn't really expected much more. The Perfect Solider had been perfectly quiet so far, apparently absorbed in the details of the current mission. We continued deeper into the Depot until we reached locker 1796, numerous isles down and distinctly isolated. Pausing in front of a tall, narrow locker door, I keyed it open with my thumbprint, then deactivated the stun bomb that I had left in there as a present to unwanted visitors. I reached immediately for one of my favorite weapons, a long distance space harpoon, where it was hanging on the ample wall space of the tall, if narrow locker. This baby always reminded me of the handmade harpoon I had used as a child on numerous heists. Heero glanced around me as I instinctively thumbed the harpoon's sharply serrated tip.

"That is not on our supply list," Heero interrupted almost immediately, and my eyes blinked towards him, surprised that he had broken his recent silence. For a moment of doublethink, I saw him as both Perfect Solider and droll boy. He really was funny, cute too, and I couldn't help the shy smile he provoked.

Fuck! I really needed to get my mind out of La-la land and back on the mission. With a quick shake of my head, I turned back to the locker.

"I know," I returned, carefully re-hanging the harpoon before dedicating my attention to the big black duffle bag resting on two dingy boxes. I pulled it out of the locker, and passed it to Heero, "There should be a basic welding kit in there, a few flash grenades, and some C4 charges in paper bags."

He immediately applied himself to the task of locating our resources, and I turned to the first of the two boxes, opening it with a grumble, "I should've known that keeping these were tempting fate. No normal person keeps a chemical weapons stash during peacetime."

The sound of rummaging behind me stopped, and there was a long pause before Heero confessed tightly, "I have my own caches on Earth. Being prepared is never wrong."

What a couple of psychos we were. Holding up two gas masks to my own scrutiny, I whispered to myself, "But it's the Prepared that always dive head-first into trouble."

Sighing, I removed my own backpack, and filled it with the gasmasks, the launcher, two thin environmental protection suits, and my entire ten canisters of N9 'sleeping' gas. I turned around to see Heero packing what appeared to be all of the C4. I kneeled next to him to retrieve a familiar firearm, still in its shoulder holster, to join the gun at my waist and the small tranq gun in my boot. Heero accepted a second tranq gun before his hand darted back out to grab the largest and most conspicuous handgun in the bag, drawing it close to inspect it. A couple seconds later he asked, "May I borrow this?"

Heero was even sexier with a large weapon in his hand, and the observation triggered that obnoxious reflex where my mouth totally blurts out my most superficial thoughts, "My, my, are you trying to compensate for something, Heero?"

The Perfect Solider gave me a perfectly stony glare. "Your aim, perhaps."

"HA!," I barked loudly, not even trying to hide my amusement. Indeed, noticing the barely hidden smile of reciprocation, I was impressed at Heero's charming attempt to handle my verbal overflow, which, typically, just encouraged another spill. "Of course you can borrow it. In fact, keep it. It looks better on you anyway."

Okay, the rollercoaster of emotions had officially taken me over the edge, and I was not thinking rationally. This was hardly the time to be testing personal boundaries! My growing self-censure was only halted by Heero's unexpectedly soft words, "As the harpoon on you."

I dared glance at his eyes then, and was surprised at the shy affection that shined back at me. Somewhere along the way, I realized, Heero had gotten used to all my crap, and that there was little I could say to dissuade his allegiance. Something painfully deep and addictive threatened to overwhelm me, sweeping up from my belly, through my lungs. It was bittersweet and disorienting, and that it how I could recognize the emotions that were threatening the mission...

With a sudden inhalation I forced myself to switch gears, to focus on the task at hand. Now Was Not The Time. I quickly zipped up the duffle bag and secured it inside the locker, then reset the stun bomb before turning stonily to my partner. Heero's transformation was just as perfect, and he stood alert, one hundred and ten percent ready for our nutball assault on Soko's headquarters. We nodded to indicate readiness, then I took point and scouted for a car to jack. That was easy enough on L2, and I drove it about ten kilometers through the streets towards the Prime Minister's Office. Then we parked it near a camouflaged access point to the good ol' environmental waste system.

The passage through the sewers was actually more direct than the streets would've been, given the intentional blockages between the adjacent poor and rich neighborhoods, and was the only way to avoid the strikers and protestors. With public transit down and uncoordinated private transit impossible amidst crowds, options were severely limited. The sewers did have the expected disadvantages, but Heero was a complete professional and didn't even mention the stench. He probably wouldn't've even said anything at all if the trek hadn't been over two kilometers, aggravated by both the knee-high sewage and our unwieldy environmental protection suits.

About ten minutes in, he breaks his silence to ask, a little awkwardly and uncertainly, "You know your way around quite well. Did you spend a lot of time in the waste systems as a child?"

I shrugged, my eyes glued in front of me, unsure of what to make of Heero's oddly timed foray into the personal. "Not really, we lived on the streets mostly. Though we did sometimes use these sewers to hide out, or for inconspicuous passage. I probably knew these tunnels better than the other kids though, and I've had several opportunities to study the original layout since. It's even worse that this though, being a half-pint without a suit."

There was a long silence as we continued our determined wade through raw sewage, and I thought the painful line of questioning over when he finally queried, "We?"

That reticent question made me want to rub my face in exhausted mourning, but sanitary concerns forbid it. Instead, I had to settle for a sigh and the softly acknowledged truth, "Me, and Solo, the other kids... We were Solo's wolf pack, and I was sorta like the second in command of this, this little army of thieves and scammers. For a while, we were the best survivors L2's ever seen. If the plague hadn't come..."

I couldn't finish, and instead increased my speed so that he could not see the pain that was surely on my face. This was not something I talked about, thigh deep in shit or not!

As unlikely as it might seem, Heero seemed to sense my sudden distress, and he maintained a soothing silence for the remainder of our malodorous trip. I used the minutes to prepare my battle self, calling forth what remained of Shinigami. A fallen god banished to politics and strategy, his frustration had itched under my skin for the last couple weeks, always under the surface, never able to spread his clipped wings. Instead of the old raging mania, a less familiar calm slid over me. I could still recognize Shinigami's lethal intent and focus, but he had reached a new... maturity, perhaps? Something was different, but I didn't have the time or wherewithal to address it now.

We stopped under Soko's headquarters. For security reasons, his building was not directly connected with the local waste systems, but it had to meet up with the main colony-wide systems at some point, and that is where we attempted entry. We traveled up that sloping tunnel until we ran into the concrete wall – where the sewage seeped through approximately twenty fist-sized holes. A couple C4 charges made short time of the concrete, and then we found the tunnel narrowing significantly, so that we were crawling through the shallow muck, thankful for the thick, if clumsy, protection suits. As disgusting as the experience was, it was also steeling: Heero and I were as serious as heart attacks. He surely approved of my silent focus.

When the tunnel finally ran under the expected manhole, we used the welding tools to meticulously cut through the thick iron grate protecting the facility. Like robots we stripped off our protection suits, leaving them for the return journey, then crawled into the comparatively spacious and well ventilated maintenance tunnel – which we followed until we reached a larger corridor off of which branched all the maintenance facilities.

We stalked quietly down the empty corridor until we reached a closed door that barely dampened the heavy sound of ventilation. Given the apparent absence of people on this lowest level of the compound, we risked a set of synchronized kicks to break down the door to the air filtration control room. Heero didn't miss a beat as he immediately tranqed the startled Uniform that was still getting to his feet, and I closed the door behind us. The control room was nothing more than a metal platform, separated only by a thick door from a series of giant fans that circulated air throughout the compound. Heero retrieved the keys to open the second door and I wasted no time in retrieving there N9 canisters from my backpack, then loading them into the launcher. We stepped out onto the staircase to be surrounded by the rushing sound of wind, and I exchanged a meaningful look with Heero before shooting three rounds down the first three wind tunnels. I passed him a gas mask, then put on my own; it would only be a matter of time before the gas would circulate throughout the compound, as the filters would be easily overwhelmed by the military-grade N9. The gas was invisible, with only the faintest sour odor, and was a much finer particle than most systems are capable of cleaning – especially on a backward colony like L2.

We left the filtration system through the door, guns drawn and Heero taking point. The maintenance corridors were empty, presumably because everyone's attention was directed at the surely angry crowd outside, but now it was time to head up a couple levels to the populated parts of the building. Judicious use of metal cutters got us through a couple doors without announcing our arrival too loudly. The first Uniforms we ran into were tranqed, slumping against walls and chairs, and I didn't even try to stifle the feral grin that ate up my face. They would all share the world's worst hangover when they woke up hours from now.

"Take that, fuckers!" I growled softly, the old anger flaring through the new calm for a moment as I carelessly stepped over their prone bodies. They were misguided lackeys for sure, but they were still responsible for firing on their own people!

We passed a dozen more bodies as we made our way to the Prime Minister's office, purposely avoiding the outer rooms and corridors, where open windows would likely have prevented the N9 from reaching requisite concentration levels. Sure enough, less than ten minutes had passed before an announcement came over the intercom, "Code Red! Code Red! Armed intruders have entered the building and released a gaseous sedative. Access gas masks immediately, and use extreme caution!"

This being L2, where environmental controls experience regular crises that result in periodic toxic buildup, a complex like the Prime Minister's Office would have access to gas masks. We could only hope that we had caught enough Uniforms by surprise that there wouldn't be many left standing to use said masks. There was no question as to where the remaining Uniforms would regroup.

We approached the actual office through the main corridor, which was wider and offered better cover than the narrow side corridors. We burst through the doors and sprinted for opposite pillars (bless Soko's wasteful need for decorative architecture) amidst a spatter of bullets. My fingers twitched uncomfortably around the tranq gun, which was nowhere near capable of the rapid fire of a real hand cannon. I couldn't repress a reluctant sigh. Why does it always seem like I end up doing life the hard way?

Banking on the Uniforms' poor training and hopefully worse aim, I leaned my arm and part of my face around the pillar and shot down one (pause), two (pause), and three armed men, all wearing gas masks. Heero dropped another two and a woman, while a seventh and eight retreated behind the large, gaudy and majestic and obviously fortified door. The corridor appeared clear, so after a short beat we moved quickly up the parallel rows of pillars. We slowed closer to the large door, eying the open slit through which a sharp eye could make out the muzzle of a machine gun.

Heero gestured for me to provide cover, so I took up behind the nearest pillar. Again, I had to remind myself that the mission parameters required tranq guns, and a zero death toll – and that despite the fact that a tranq was incapable of even denting a machine gun, a real bullet could still ricochet and kill, especially with my aim. I laid down what ineffective cover fire I could, drawing the machine gunner's attention to myself as Heero dashed for the corner of the room. I withdrew for a moment behind the pillar to reload my tranq gun, cringing a little at the sound of bullets hitting the plaster at my back. With a machine gun, good aim wasn't even necessary, and my chances of being hit increased with every plaster chunk blasted from the pillar.

I ducked around again to shoot again, eyes darting to the left to make quick note of Heero's stealthy progress along the wall. He was close to the door, but not close enough to prevent the second torrent of fire that again showered my way – and this time a couple bullets did make it through the plaster and into my lower ribs. I hissed in pain and immediately applied pressure to the wound without even looking at it; I could tell just from the feel of my body and the location of the hit that the injury was not fatal, provided it was treated before I bled to death. Shit, I could probably stitch myself up if I got to it before I lost consciousness.

The sudden cessation of fire, combined with the sounds of scuffling, prompted me to peek from around the pillar in time to watch Heero's steal-bending grip on the muzzle twist the weapon into uselessness – while with the other hand he activated two flash grenades and threw them through the slit in the door. The light that followed, temporarily blinding to those directly exposed, was disorienting to those on the other side of the door, but was still painfully bright in the small dose that escaped through the slit. I hastened to join Heero, forcibly relegating the sharp stabbing in my side to nothingness as I retrieved a smaller C4 package and smoothly attached it to the door. We dashed to the pillar across from the one demolished by the machine gun, and waited only a couple seconds before a mild explosion blew away the door and part of the wall. Then, it was back to the tranq guns as we quickly moved into the resulting haze of chalky dust and smoke. The three Uniforms were closest to the door, one knocked unconscious by the blast and the other two stumbling blindly to get away from the rubble. Heero tranqed one, and I the other, then we moved further into the large and gaudy (and now filthy) office.

A hazy figure I recognized as Soko stood behind the power-desk, and next to him a familiar meaty bodyguard brandishing handgun. Heero and I both hit the ground, but the bullets went so wide that I knew he was shooting blind. I tranqed the creep, then jumped to my feet and stalked towards Soko – adrenaline pulsing fast enough that I almost felt like the old Shinigami. Almost.

In the background I heard Heero tranqing the two officials that had been fighting blindly to unlock one of the side doors, but my focus was entirely consumed by the Prime Minister that I was about to depose. I leapt over the desk without any concern for my forgotten injuries, and stood inches away from the profusely sweating man-toad. Despite our gas masks, up close we could still stare each other in the eye. I leaned deliberately closer to hiss menacingly, "We killed all the men in this office, Soko; and in the corridor, and anyone we came across while coming through the building. If you don't give us what we want, you're next."

"Maxwell, you terrorist trash! You'll never get away with this!" he retorted, but his voice was thick with fear. I didn't even have to look to confirm what the smell of urine told me. The coward obviously couldn't differentiate between the sound of a real gun and a tranquilizer gun.

"Perhaps, but neither will you. Now give me the access codes to your computer."

"What?" he stuttered, clearly confused and upset. "No!"

I grabbed his greasy pompadour and slammed his face into the expensive hard oak of his imported desk, which provided a satisfying _thunk_ to accompany the crunch of his newly broken nose. Then I wrenched his head back up, to watch the blood begin to stream out from under his gas mask. "There are roughly two hundred bones in the adult body, Prime Minister. That means you'll have two hundred chances to give me your code before I kill you."

"Reinforcements will get here before you get that far," the bastard slurred, almost admirably in his pitiful state. It takes a lot of cojones to stand up to Shinigami, so maybe his problem wasn't cowardice – so I slammed his face into the desk again. Then I glanced quickly a Heero, who had taken a seat at Soko's computer and was furiously typing away. Without even looking up he shook his head, silently confirming what we had already assumed, that the files were too well encrypted for a quick hack.

"Reinforcements won't be so quick once they discover the building overrun by armed strikers," I retorted, flipping open my communicator and punched the button to simultaneously dial up all the surviving Union leaders. They had been waiting and picked up immediately.

"We have Soko, and the building's clear. Your turn." Of course, Katrina et al were actually going to disburse the crowds, as we hardly wanted the rioting hoards to massacre the unconsciously Uniforms – but there was no reason to let Soko know that.

I turned my attention back to Soko, patience thinning even further. "Now, Prime Minister, are you going to tell us the code? My partner here is a Preventor, he can arrest you and afford you protection in custody. Or I can break a few more bones and then leave you to the mercy of the population that you so recently shot at?"

Soko looked almost shut down by indecision, so I grabbed his wrist with one hand, and his pointer and middle fingers with the other, then yanked the fingers upward with a distinctive snap. The man howled in agony and then visibly caved in on himself, trying in vain to regain possession of his hand.

"The code, Prime Minister. I grow tired of this game." I grabbed his ring finger roughly, and the modestly tough bastard started crying hysterically.

"Wait, wait!" he sobbed. "I'll tell... " I waited through a couple seconds of his heavy breathing, then shifted my grip to squeeze his broken fingers together. "L2-BLONG-2-ME," he finally managed between stuttering inhalations. What a fuckface, we totally would've definitely been able to crack that given enough time!

I waited for Heero's nod of confirmation before releasing my grip on Soko's hand. Then I retrieved my tranq gun and shot the prick point blank in the chest, twice. That should leave quite the bruise!

There wasn't time to analyze the newly accessed data, so Heero attached a wireless broadcaster to the isolated computer and sent the information consecutively to several sources – his personal computer, Lady Une, Relena Peacecraft, the main L2 news network, and Katrina. We were gambling that somewhere in this mess of communication logs, financial records, and legal documents, there lurked evidence of significant and extensive illegal activity. Neither of us considered it a particular risky gamble. With the levels of arrogance and corruption on L2, it was unlikely that anyone had gone to the protracted lengths necessary to hide _all_ of the evidence.

We left the computer still broadcasting, and quickly retraced our steps back to the lower levels, taking off our gas masks when we neared the sewers. The adrenaline was fading rapidly, and with it the numbness that had allowed me to literally forget about the wound in the rush of excitement. Instead I was left with an aching side and a sickly, dizzying exhaustion that I pushed through by sheer force of single-minded will. The black priest's garb, combined with Soko's nosebleed, had hidden the rather copious amounts of my own blood, but nothing could hide my new clumsiness from Heero. When I struggled into the environmental suit, he turned to me with a frown and searching eyes. "Are you injured?"

I probably woulda blushed, had I enough extra blood to send to my face. Embarrassment aside, 01 deserved to know the truth, especially if I was going to collapse somewhere in the sewer tunnels. So I nodded and gestured to my ribs, "Took a couple rib hits from the machine gun back there."

Heero's eyes flashed over my body, as though he could see through my environmental suit. "Can you make it back to the safe house?"

Probably not. I shrugged, then winced at the unexpected pain. "Maybe."

My response must've told him more than I intended, because his expression steeled immediately. "Take down the top of the suit," he demanded severely.

I wanted to argue, but my pride was crippled by a nauseating fatigue, and any objections crumbled in my mouth. Just following his instructions was effort enough.

"Your shirt too," he commanded, opening his own backpack to retrieve a medical kit – which had definitely not been requisitioned from my personal stockpile. "Sit down."

"Yes, your highness," my mouth retorted weakly, as I practically collapsed on the floor, my legs dangling into the manhole above the sewer. "Where'd you get the med kit?"

Heero kneeled next to me an inspected the now bloody mess, carefully touching the skin near the wound. "I never travel without one these days. Preventer protocol," he replied distractedly. Then he took my discarded priest's shirt and ripped from arm to arm.

"Hey!," I objected, a spike of irrational panic providing limited energy. "That's the only one I got left!"

"Good riddance," he grunted, having ripped two long strips of black material. "It was always morbid, but you're not the God of Death anymore. We didn't kill anybody today."

That shut me up and filled me with such an unexpected and thorough relief that I had a painful lump formed in my throat. If Heero believed that I was no longer the God of Death, then just maybe it was, or could be, the truth. It was suddenly obvious that I had been denying how much I wanted it to be true, out of fear that escaping Shinigami's shadow was impossible. Oh God, I know I haven't prayed since Maxwell Orphanage burned, but please accept me back! I don't want to share my soul with Shinigami anymore! Just let me be Duo, please.

I watched silently as Heero poured disinfectant on the remaining material, and barely flinched when he used it to clean the wound. The bullets had passed straight through my body, so he used butterfly closures on both entrance and exit wounds, then he wrapped the two strips tightly around my ribs. The wound had stopped bleeding under his ministrations, but it was certain to begin again once I started moving, if perhaps less profusely. Heero inspected his handiwork for a moment before looking me straight in the eyes. Half naked, injured, and still moved by his previous words, I felt uncomfortable vulnerability radiating from my very expression and with every shaky breath.

Heero's face softened, though surely imperceptible to anyone who did not know him as well as I did; and he made an effort to speak gently, "This will have to do until I can stitch you up back at the safe house. Do you think you can make it through the crawl space? I can help you to the car once the sewers open up."

I nodded and refastened the environmental suit. When Heero held out his hands to help me down the manhole, I accepted gratefully. Shinigami couldn't accept help, but Duo could.

! ! !

The initial crawl through the sewer was a million times worse (and definitely lower) in my current state, and I gagged on stomach bile more than once. Once vertical again, I had to lean so heavily on Heero that I didn't even have to mention the blood that I felt trickling down my torso and leg. Time warped as I walked more in a trance than truly conscious, so that I had no idea how long it took us to get to the car – where I promptly passed out.

I woke again when Heero began removing my environmental suit. After a moment of disorientation, my unfocused gaze was able to recognize the safe house we had just recently come from. Had Heero carried me? I would certainly have been embarrassed, had I the mental wherewithal for such a complex emotional process.

"You've lost a lot of blood," Heero commented stoically, removing the blood-soaked bandages. Again, he wiped at the wounds with disinfectant that should have stung, but I just felt so disconnected from my body…

"The shot looks clean," he continued to his barely-conscious audience. "So stitches should be sufficient. Though I don't have any anesthesia."

"Psh...," I slurred loopily. "Whatza li'l m're pain?"

My closed my eyes and just let it happen. I barely registered the needle piercing skin, but Heero's hands felt pleasantly warm on my skin. After he sowed up the exit holes on my front, he gently rolled me over and started working on the entrance wounds on my back. My last waking thought was of the fact that the only time Heero touched me was when he was putting me back together after some physical trauma...

The dream I remember from that restless sleep is still horrifying to me. At one point I was laying face down on a shabby bed, tense and naked, with Heero sitting calmly next to me. It was agonizingly painful as Heero gently stroked in and out of my bleeding orifice, but I was turned on too, with my erection digging into the mattress. I was frightened, and ashamed, but I couldn't resist the need to thrust into the mattress, then inevitably rebound onto the invading fingers. The pain and pleasure escalated until I was begging Heero to fingerfuck me a little harder, yes, hurt me more, please, just a little more –

I jerked awake with a terrified cry, slick with cold sweat, face down with an erection digging painfully into the mattress; and as realization flooded in, it was all I could do curl into myself and gag convulsively. Heero was next to me in seconds, but I desperately pushed his hands away, gasping and on the verge of hysteria, "Don't, please don't!"

He backed off quickly to sit on the foot of the bed, and just watched me pull myself together. I swallowed back my nausea and slowly forced my breathing back to normal. Heero kept his distance, and when I'd gotten myself together sufficiently, I dared a glance at him to gage his reaction to my minor freak-out. He looked a little concerned, but calm, and certainly not surprised. "You okay?"

I drew my knees close to my body in a belated attempt to hide the already faded evidence, and briefly checked my stitches, which hurt of course but seemed to be intact, then nodded doubtfully. Even if Heero hadn't seen my hard-on, what does one even say after such a spectacle? Something reassuring I suppose. "They aren't usually that bad. This one was just . . ." I trailed off piteously, leaning my forehead against my bent knees so that my face was hidden and voice muffled. "This one was extra twisted, I can honestly say it was one of the worst ever."

Heero reached a hand out to offer a couple pills for the physical pain, which I accepted gratefully and swallowed dry. He took several more seconds before answering quietly, almost uncertainly, "Nightmares are normal after what we've been through. And yesterday was not without its stresses."

Did that dream even count as a nightmare? Even as I asked the question, I knew it did. I had been terrified during the dream, and horrified upon waking. I found it hard to imagine the Perfect Solider waking up screaming though... I raised my head to study him for a moment. "Do you have them?"

Heero actually looked uncomfortable for a beat, before revealing the damning truth. "No."

I sighed and dropped my head back onto my knees, temporarily wallowing in depressed resignation. "I'm so hopelessly fucked up."

A long moment of silence passed before Heero tried again, his voice so low that I had to strain to hear, "I'm the one that's fucked up, not you, not about this anyway. Chang has woken to nightmares during missions, and Winner has admitted to me that both he and Barton have them. I know you all call me the 'Perfect Solider', and maybe I am, but it's because Doctor J spent years stripping away all traces of humanity. So you have to deal with the damage done to you and by you, but I deal with the fact that I may never be able to care enough about that kind of damage, to myself or others... Sometimes I wish that I did have nightmares, because it would be proof that I wasn't a machine, that I _had_ been affected by the horrors around me."

I was probably the longest non-mission-related spiel I had ever heard from Heero, and it effectively made his point. His own head bowed in defeat, I could feel his agony, even identify with it, and it did make me feel less alone. I shouldn't have been so surprised that I wasn't the only one who sometimes felt like a monster – because of the war, because of our lives before the war, just because.

I was drawn instinctively to his pain, away from my own, and after the barest consideration of consequences (did the rat dare comfort the lion?), I crawled weakly across the bed to him. I arranged myself carefully next to him, so that our shoulders and legs touched, and I wrapped my arm around his. We both sat like this for long, silent seconds, looking at our entwined hands. I was definitely afraid to interrupt this strange peace between us. Surely Heero would pull away if I did anything to attract attention to the situation? For my own protection, I should've wanted him to withdraw, but like a masochist I inched closer to something that would only hurt.

My eyes eventually fell on the faded artificial light coming through the barred window. It was morning again, which meant that I had been asleep for over twelve hours. My thoughts darted to the mission and I had to say something then. "What's been happening while I was out? What'd the records show?"

Defying expectation, Heero tightened his hold on my hand, eyes flickering to his laptop. "There is definitely evidence of illegal financial transactions. I haven't had time to go through everything, but it looks like Soko and his predecessors have been funneling tax and tariff money and other public revenue to personal accounts and acquaintances on L1 and L4. There also appears to be evidence of political imprisonments and illegal manipulation of the law enforcement and court systems; and, of course, the bribery of officials and falsification of audit and quality control records."

It was a little disconcerting, despite suspecting that much of this was going on. I let go of Heero and flopped back on the mattress with a loud groan, covering my eyes with my arm. "Of course."

Heero twisted around to sit cross-legged and face me. "I have been in touch withPetrovsky, who's now at the L2 Daily News headquarters. She went on air to explain our infiltration of Soko's office, and the network has been broadcasting the details of the government's illegal activity as it is identified from the records."

It was supposed to be good news, but I knew L2 too well. "And are people just watching this on their vidscreens?," I asked, trying not to sound too sarcastic.

"Some of them probably are," Heero responded, sounding vaguely amused. "The rest are rioting and burning down buildings. I think they ran out of government structures around midnight and then started in on the big businesses."

"Lovely," I drawled, this time allowing the sarcasm to drip freely. No matter what happened, rioting was apparently inevitable on L2. Now that he mentioned it, I could actually detect the faint odor of smoke in air.

Heero gave me a moment to take this in before continuing, "I spoke with Relena. The ESUN forces will be here by evening, and they're going to need your and Petrovsky's help to restore peace."

Oh joy, more politics. I sighed heavily, finally removing my arm from my eyes to stare exhaustedly at the cracked ceiling. "I'll do what I can."

Then I let my eyes close, and submersed myself in the heavy weight of responsibility, which obliterated all thought in favor of burdensome feeling. I lay like that for a long time, barely registering the shifting mass on the bed as Heero reclined next to me.

"Duo?," Heero ventured softly, after who knows how long.

"Hmmm?" I replied, cracking my eyelids to look at him, his head propped up by a bent arm and face close to mine.

His eyes searched my face, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable. "May I kiss you?," he asked uncertainly.

My mouth fell open a little at that. Was I dreaming again, or maybe even hallucinating? I must've misheard. "Hunh?"

Heero leaned closer so that I could almost feel his heat, and I caught his eyes flickering down to my lips. "I really want to kiss you," he whispered roughly.

I think I nodded, but who knows? His lips descended to brush softly against mine, his warm breath sweeping gently over my skin. Both our lips were a little dry and they stuck together for a moment as he pulled back and our eyes found each other again. I can only imagine that my expression ran the gamut from absolutely thunderstruck and pathetically needy, because Heero reacted with a rare look of concern. "Are you okay?"

I really didn't know, and my emotions were running amok through my veins: was I happy or scared, comforted or upset, hopeful or desperate? Whatever else I felt, I was powerfully relieved not to feel so alone, and I lurched towards Heero to bury my face in the crook of his neck. He responded by cautiously wrapping his free arm around my body as it trembled with the effort of controlling my emotions.

After long minutes I finally calmed, but I didn't let go of Heero's strength. I didn't want to face him, nor did I want to leave the comfort of his embrace. I breathed in the soothing scent of his skin, then dared place a chaste kiss on his neck. "I'm such a mess, Heero. Thanks for putting up with me."

Heero gently pulled away to look at me. He used his now freed arm to brush a long lock of hair from my face. I must've made more sense to him than I did to myself, because he smiled shyly and replied, "Thank you for putting up with me. Duo. I know I'm not the easiest person to get along with."

I couldn't help but crack a pleased smile at that. "Can we try that kiss again?"

It went a lot better this time.

! ! !

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	7. Heero

Thanks to my reviewers. Keep 'em coming!

WARNING: Gratuitous graphic sex. There is plot too, but don't even bother to read this chapter if heavy slash makes you squeamish. If not, enjoy.

Chapter 7: Heero

"He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man." – Samuel Johnson

The next few days sped by so fast that radical new developments stopped shocking me. My primarily feeling during this time was impatience at not having the time to explore the one thing that truly interested me – my changing relationship with Heero. Aside from a few tame kisses that first day, there hadn't been time for anything other than meaningful glances and the odd brush of hands. I was kept busy enough to mostly ignore the disturbing doubts that kept trying to creep into my mind.

Relena made it to L2 before nightfall, with ESUN forces and a handful of Preventer agents in tow, and her first order of business was to take Soko into custody. Vids all over L2 showed Katrina handing him over with an expression of disgust on her face and a makeshift nose splint on his. Still, this footage only went so far in calming the restless population. Rioting on L2 tends to take a life of its own. It may begin as political unrest, but when the gangs and other predatory members of the underclass start coming out of the woodwork to take advantage of the disorder... then it's like Pandora's Box. Getting the criminal element under control is no easy task.

That first day an armored truck was sent to pick up Heero and me, and take us to the makeshift headquarters set up at L2's Principal Hospital. We debriefed Relena, and then together sketched out a realistic plan for restoring peace over the next few days. After repeated allusions to my safety from Relena, Katrina, and (most effectively) Heero, I reluctantly agreed to live at the fortified hospital for the time being. Even I had to admit that getting accidently killed or kidnapped during the mayhem would hardly help pacify the populace. Gurneys beat some of the places I've slept, and the provided food was better than the usual hospital crap.

What followed were a series of meetings, in which we listened to damage and threat assessments and created short-term plans to pacify the population and to deal with the current environmental and medical crises. On the second day after ESUN's arrival, Relena and Katrina broadcast their appeals and promises to the public, which basically went like this: please stop rioting, we promise an outside investigation into all criminal charges and to begin election proceedings; everything will get better. I was close enough to the situation to believe these two strong women, but even I could recognize that the promises and appeals sounded an awful lot like the ones that the old L2 government had already made many times over. The next day, when Relena finally convinced me to make my own appeal, I was hardly inclined to peddle the same bullshit. My patience for this self-destructive behavior was pretty much gone, so I cut straight to what I considered the heart of the matter: the colonists' most fundamental self-interests.

"Come on, L2. We've been here before. No one has failed to notice the dropping temperature, or the pervading smell of sewage. You'd have to be stupid not to recognize these symptoms – the environmental systems are working on partial power. At the hospital here we've already had an influx of sick, but treatable, patients. How much longer before the overworked sanitation system spawns a new plague, one that'll kill thousands before it can be cured or contained? And let's not forget the smell of smoke that's everywhere. All you need to do is walk up a couple flights of stairs to recognize the familiar effects of low-oxygen air.

"So, I ask you, are we up for another round of 'how low can you go'? That was real fun last time, fifteen thousand dead, if I recall; not to mention the billions in damages that you know we ended up paying for... Of course, we don't _have_ to hit rock bottom before we decide to pull our shit together and get back to the business of maintaining a space-faring civilization. It's not like this colony's gonna maintain itself, you think this is fucking Earth? We're gonna have to give this whole law and order thing another try sooner or later. It's just a question of whether we cut our losses and do it now, or wait 'til L2 has been crippled into compliance. You know, smiting ourselves isn't really the best way to say 'fuck you' to all the people who never cared about us."

I nodded then for the camera to cut off.

"You don't pull your punches, do you?" Relena asked from the sidelines, where she had been watching with Katrina and Heero.

I shrugged, I had just spoken a truth that should've been obviously to any colonist. "What can I say? I'm a killer and a comedian, no time to be a politician."

"Oh, I don't know," Relena responded, a note of calculation setting off warning bells in my mind. "You seem to be just the kind of politician L2 needs."

I did not like the way Katrina nodded, or how close she was standing to Relena. Had they already managed to plot something in the limited time they'd had together? I stalked a little closer to them, and pointed my finger menacingly at both of them, "Don't even think about it," I commanded resolutely. "Whatever hair-brained scheme you two are concocting now, I don't want any part of it. I've already gone much farther on this rollercoaster than I ever intended."

"Don't worry, he always says that," Katrina responded nonchalantly, looking every bit as conniving as I had learned she could be.

Relena didn't seem to value my objection either, and it pissed me off so much that I growled, "My answer is no!" and stalked away angrily.

"You haven't even heard our idea!" Katrina called indignantly after me.

I grunted to myself, extremely skeptical that actually hearing them out would make me any more eager to go along with their plans. I just wanted the dust to settle and to get back to the Dungeon, where I could do my part in restarting L2's economy. My mind lightly skittered over the corollary to this thought: when Heero inevitably returned back to Earth, I wanted to able to retreat to the familiar comfort and solitude of my self-made sanctuary.

I made my way to the cafeteria to grab a bite and some coffee, needing a break as much as I needed sustenance. As antisocial as I felt, I still forced myself to nod and smile at the hospital workers and other "secure local staff" I passed, many of whom were obviously pleased to see me. I sighed, displeased but still forced to acknowledge the truth: my various exploits and public appearances had given me one of the most, if not _the most_, recognizable faces on L2. I would surely have to move to the asteroid belt to hide from all the unwanted attention.

I wasn't too surprised when Heero joined the cafeteria line behind me. I served myself some congealed mac 'n' cheese with peas and synthetic ham cubes, and poured a cup of bad coffee, ignoring Heero's unsubtle attempts to study my expression from his side view. We made our way to a table, where Heero sat down across from me and continued to watch me intently. I started eating immediately, unwilling to give him an easy opening for whatever unpleasant thing he seemed posed to say.

Sure enough, he soon opened his mouth anyway, "You really should listen to their proposition. They want to put you in a position where you could really make a difference to L2. They think the colonists would listen to you, and I agree."

My fingers clenched around my fork, mimicking the spasm of irritation that flushed through me. "I don't want them to listen to me. I don't know how to fix L2's endless problems, nor do I want that kind of responsibility."

Heero replied calmly, "We tore down the old regime, so we are uniquely responsible for the creation of a new system. We also have the resources and ability to lead the efforts at reconstruction, and the knowledge that these resources and abilities could lie in far worse hands."

I accepted the gentle rebuke better than I did Katrina's usual riling arguments, probably because it appealed to that subduing feeling of guilt. Nor did I miss his use of the plural 'we'. Indeed, all of the old Gundam boys were currently engaged in activities that could somehow be construed as reconstruction. Quatre, with Trowa at his side, was running Winner Enterprises, which, in addition to be making massive corporate profits, also financed numerous infrastructural repairs and other projects on Earth and throughout the colonies. Wufei was working with L5 survivors to plan and eventually build another colony, and Heero was shaping the Preventors into a new kind of law enforcement agency that could actually be trusted and relied up. And me, well I guess I was knee deep in leading a revolution on L2. Heero was right, it would be downright irresponsible to wash my hands of the situation now.

I let my forehead fall into my hands in symbolic defeat. "I guess I can play the politician for a little longer. The Dungeon can wait."

Heero was so silent that I brought my head back up to look at him. He was frowning in apparent concern. "What is it?" I asked with sudden trepidation.

"You've seen the initial damage assessments?"

"Yes..." Uh oh. I hadn't paid close attention to reports that hadn't included major infrastructure or public institutions, but I could guess where this was leading. I swallowed back the painful lump in my throat. "The Dungeon?"

"There weren't any specific details, but the first pass reported significant fire damage to the commercial properties in that area."

Of course. After the government buildings had been burned and/or looted, successful businesses would have been the next target. And while my popularity could've spared me from most of the rioters, not everyone could be counted on to recognize my property, or to care even if they did. And this is not to mention the small faction of colonists that actually supported Soko, who could probably be relied upon to actively target the Dungeon. It was stupid not to have considered the possibility of the Dungeon's destruction. I spent so much effort making it an impenetrable fortress that I had become accustomed to trusting in its security; but even the building's reinforced defenses were no match for the rigged explosives and raging fires that seemed to inevitably come with any serious L2 riot.

A feeling of dread swelled up in my chest, painful enough that I had to act. I stood abruptly up from my half-eaten lunch, almost knocking over the chair. "I'll be back."

I dumped my tray on the way out the door, Heero trailing closely behind me. I could sense his disapproval, but he had the good sense not to say anything. I would've gone anyway.

Once in the garage I pointed to one of the large military motorcycles and asked him, "Are you gonna get me a vehicle, or am I gonna have to hotwire one of these things?"

Heero sighed and then walked over to the cubicle where an ESUN guard was watching us attentively. He displayed his Preventor's badge and pointed to the motorcycle, which prompted the guard to hand over a key. Heero signed a form, and then walked back to me – in fact, walked right past me to mount the motorcycle.

"I've seen you behind the wheel, I'm driving," he deadpanned, grabbing two helmets from around the handlebars. I snorted in amusement, despite the pessimism I was otherwise feeling. I swung my leg over the bike, my body fitting comfortably behind his, and accepted the proffered helmet.

"Do your worst!" I taunted once I had my own helmet one, and planted my hands on his waist.

Heero peeled out of the garage with a bit of squeal, barely slowing enough to allow the fortified gate to open. After the cooped in tension of the last few days, the race through still smoking streets was a welcome rush of adrenaline. A couple groups of hoodlums took potshots at us as we flew past, but their aim was poor and Heero's driving excellent. Given our speed and his sudden turns, there was no other way to ride except flush against his back and thighs. His firm body and his clean scent were enough to have my mind flirting with more sexual thoughts, and I wondered how he would react if I were to get hard. But at the same time, I could not entirely abandon the feeling of dread that preoccupied my mind and body, so I was spared any manifestation of my thoughts.

Too soon the ride was over, and I slipped off the motorcycle in the middle of the abandoned street. The neighboring business showed evidence of fire and looting. The Dungeon had apparently held up well against the flames, but the garage door had been obliterated by some form of explosive, likely homemade by the appearance of the shrapnel. I morosely made my way through the rubble, Heero pushing the bike after me, both of us inspecting the damage inside.

While the building itself had only suffered minor structural damage, there was little left of value inside. Not only were all my tools and parts gone, the garage had been stripped of its vehicle lifts, hoists, and other such heavy equipment.

"What the fuck did they do?" I bitterly asked no one in particular, "bring in a truck to haul away a thousand kilos of metal?" The only saving grace was that Deathscythe II was docked at a relatively secure commercial port, where she was hopefully still safe.

I was a little sad, and a tad angry, but overall surprisingly calm about the whole affair. Sure, I had put a lot of time, money, and effort into the Dungeon, into creating a home and something _mine_ that I could love and be proud of; but the loss seemed almost insignificant compared to previous tragedies. Despite the long hours of tortured soul-searching that had taken place there, I had not formed the sort of attachment to the Dungeon that I had to Deathscythe, or the Maxwell Orphanage, or any other place. I felt jaded, and suspected that this was because I had lost so much that I didn't care about anything as much as I used to. I wondered briefly what that implied for Heero. Were we both broken in our ability to love?

What a fucking drama queen. Maybe I was just growing up, leaving behind such childish things and all that…

I knew there would be nothing of value left, but still I walked up the stairs to the studio where I had once slept, prepared food, and kept a handful of personal belongings. Heero's light footsteps followed.

Sure enough, my little living area was completely demolished. The kitchen appliances had been taken, the mattress had been knifed open in the pursuit of hidden treasures, and my desk completely emptied. On the floor I saw a couple items with no apparent intreest to looters. I bent to pick up a scraggly brush that had been given to me by Ally, one of the Sweepers, as well as a ripped newspaper clipping announcing the rebuilding of Maxwell Orphanage. Getting the orphanage rebuilt had soothed some hurt in my soul, but it would almost certainly be put on hold now that much of L2 was in need of rebuilding.

Heero's hands landed carefully on my shoulders, and though the unexpectedness of it made me flinch, he did not pull away. He was trying to be comforting, but I wanted him to know that it was unnecessary. Surely it would make a mockery of my previous losses, to accept comfort now when I had endured far worse? So I crumpled the newspaper clipping and let it fall to the ground, muttering dully, "It doesn't matter. I knew L2 couldn't support dreams when I came back here."

Heero used his gentle grip on my arm to turn me around to face him. He searched my expression with a concerned gaze, and I don't think he liked the blankness he found there – but I give him props for his inspired response. He moved in quickly to meet his lips to mine, in an intense if technically shallow kiss. He pulled away after long seconds of melting my defenses to rest his forehead on mine, both our eyes closed. "You don't believe that. This is just the beginning of your work here on L2. You have played a crucial role in helping the colony realize a better future, and it has required sacrifices from all."

He was right, of course, and I was just being melodramatic with my words. L2 certainly could support dreams, they were practically a staple of survival here; and I would be both blind and stupid to ignore the fact that it was in L2's fake soil that my dreams of Heero really grew into fruition. I smiled with (I barely dared to admit it) love.

"When did you get so wise and all seeing?" I whispered adoringly.

My eyes still closed, I could sense Heero's small smile. "A little perspective goes a long way."

I finally opened my eyes to return his soft gaze. "You look pretty good from this perspective," I returned, immediately following my words with an ardent kiss. I poured all my feelings, my pain and my love, into my actions, and in return Heero poured his confidence and strength into me. If I had bothered to think, I would have still been able to dredge up a few doubts, but I feltcertain of Heero, assured that he wanted me and that he could handle my periodic craziness. Really, what was a garage business compared to true love and the chance to revolutionize a whole colony?

Our passion took us in the predictable direction. Mouths wetly engrossed in each other, hands roaming under shirts before shirts disappeared completely; it was easy to just go with it, to encourage it even by pressing my hips into his…

Our lips broke apart to gasp for air, the feeling of our dicks rubbing together spinning my head. I closed my eyes for a moment to regain some modicum of composure, but when I opened them again Heero was inches away, apparently searching my face.

"Where's the monster pimple?," I joked nervously, but it was hard to deflect at such close quarters.

Heero grunted, but I could just tell he was tolerant, amused even, and that was enough to fill me with warmth. No one connects to Heero like me, and that makes me feel special even when I feel like shit. I returned his open gaze as best I could, despite the growing intensity beginning to _burn_, like gazing at the sun.

Then he ran his rough fingers down my ribs, skimming over the healing stitches, dipping below the waistline of my pants until a finger came to rest on either side of the button above my crotch. Blood pulsed through my penis, just a layer of khaki from Heero's bare fingers, but Heero's eyes never left mine.

Just as I closed my burning eyes, "Can I touch you?" he whispered hesitantly, even as his fingers acted on his behalf, parting the button of my pants and, oh fuck, I wanted to feel him touch me _there_…

A beat of nothing but the sound of my heavy breathing, and I opened my eyes again. Heero was still right there, centimeters from my face, just looking at me. "Please, Duo. Let me touch you," he asked with more confidence, rubbing his nose against mine reassuringly.

I swallowed awkwardly, cursing my weakness for surely being responsible for this bittersweet pleasure. Who woulda thought that _Heero_ of all people could verbally skirt around the edge of the issue so perfectly, addressing what needed to be addressed and leaving at rest the pain that had no place in the here and now? I wanted to praise him and fuck him at the same time. "God, Heero, yes. Hell yes."

Heero surged forward tenderly, like a leashed tiger, lips fumbling to be gentle against mine and rough hands plundering my pants as carefully as they could. A killer's callused fingers wrapped around my prick, and my gasp of fear and lust was swallowed by Heero's prefect mouth. He pumped me with vigorous strokes, and it proved… quickly overwhelming to my senses. Everything seemed to be moving super fast, my body demanding sex, and my mind willingly taking the backseat like I never thought possible.

Heero abruptly let me go, pushing me towards the shredded mattress. Weak-kneed, I allowed myself to stumble clumsily and then collapse back onto the cushioning. Heero's expression was one of deadly concentration, quickly opening his own pants as he approached, and then lay along my own body. Our faces suddenly close again, I leaned forward for another kiss, and was caught up with such passion that even my trepidations faded momentarily, and I let Heero grip our dicks with his strong palm, and to rub them together like hot orgasmic magnets. His strokes were like his hands, hard and unrelenting in their objective, and my poor teenage hormones completely overloaded –

I came quickly, spastically, a kaleidoscopic rush of tense physical pleasure and loose emotional shock that had me seeing black stars.

In the following seconds, my body relaxed and my disorientation eased, my senses tuning back in to the desperate, throaty sound of Heero's occasional moans, muffled into my shoulder, as he pursued his own completion. A pleasurable laziness, a deep-seated _relief_, settled in my body in the wake of orgasm. I smirked into the crook of Heero's neck, and snuck my hand around to gently cup and roll his balls.

"NNUH!" Heero cried out as he suddenly came, his pumps growing erratic and weak as his jizz spurted all up my torso, wet and hot on my skin. My lips smiled so hard it hurt, with love and amusement at the familiar grunt appearing in a new setting. Heero's whole body visibly slackened, his muscles loosened under my fingers and his limbs rested around me. For languid minutes we just lay wrapped in each other, and I was comforted by his soft smell and the steady pace of his body rhythms.

Finally, he drew away from me and we both cleaned up, a ridiculous grin on my face. Heero, of course, did not suffer from post-coital scruffiness.

"Screw my life as a businessman," I joked, pulling on my pants. "I'll let Relena make me the next L2 poster puppet if it gets me a little Heero action on a daily basis."

My joke was met first with silence and a view of his lowered head as he slowly buttoned his shirt, but eventually he returned my scrutiny with dead seriousness, "Would you agree to such an arrangement?"

I musta looked at him like he was an alien, but the windmills in my mind were picking up considerable speed at the implications of his questions. "Has someone offered?" I parried cautiously.

"Une has postulated my permanent posting on L2, under the appropriate circumstances," Heero conceded.

"Appropriate circumstances?" I parroted, frowning now as I bent over my unlaced boots.

"Preventer resources are currently stretched too thin for the scale of operation required to resolve L2's corruption. However, Lady Une has specifically stated that, granted the full support of a trustworthy base within the government, she would be willing to post me to L2 in order to recruit and train a local office."

A Preventers branch on L2? With me as some government official? Creating civil order by day, solving crimes by night? I couldn't tell if I was giddy or anxious, everything was just moving so fast! And Heero continued to stare at me, because the question remained, would I agree to such an arrangement?

I tried to scan through the pros: Heero, sex, betterment of L2, sex with Heero, powerful job, decent pay, tearing off suits to have hot sex on the office desk… Fuck, I was obviously in no position to commit myself to a political future and/or long term relationship, but I really couldn't think of any manly cons at the moment: great responsibility? Stress? Bureaucratic BS? Surely nothing a Gundam pilot couldn't handle, right?

I guess it was time to stop fighting against the current. Downstream was looking pretty good these days.

"You know what, Heero?" I approached and slung my arm over his shoulder, with only partially false bravado. "If I need to be respectable to be your man, then I think I can do that."

Heero didn't like the word 'respectable', as evidenced by the slightest narrowing of his eyes, but I had used the word knowing that it would provoke a reaction. Heero had little respect for 'respectable' types, and certainly did not consider himself one.

He garbled his next words, but my keen hearing still picked it up, "Not too respectable."

"Yeah, I wouldn't count on it," I retorted cheekily, using my arm around his shoulders to pull Heero through the door of my vandalized bedroom. "Let's blow this joint."

I never came back to Duo's Dungeon, sold the property at a loss a few months later. I had loved the garage, but there was no recapturing the home I had made there – a home that, ultimately, I didn't even want to return to. I chose to foster a new home with Heero instead.

! ! !

I should have seen it from the beginning, of course. Relena, Katrina, even Heero, even the ordinary fucking grunts at the hospital, they all looked at me so intently... It roused every paranoid hackle in my body, but I was aggravatingly blind to the ultimate goal here. I could not think of any appropriate position for myself within the government. What position could a teenage ex-terrorist (with no formal education) safely hold that would still allow for eradication of corruption and the betterment of L2? Nothing came to my mind.

The _inappropriate _position for which I was being considered was Prime Minister, as I found out the next day.

"Uh… you don't think this is a little ambitious?" I asked my self-appointed 'strategy advisors', Relena and Katrina, who had just outlined plans to get me elected to the highest position of power on L2. Heero appeared unphased, but was showing no inclination to participate in this unfortunate process. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back just to escape their plotting gazes. I was along for the ride but it was definitely making me nauseous.

"No. You've got the popularity to win," Katrina responded confidently.

"All that proves is people's stupidity. Do I really have what it takes to run a colony? What do I know about financing and taxation and, and, and… all that accounting crap? Not to mention all the colony maintenance, who knows what it takes to keep this deathtrap operational?" Maybe I was getting a little wigged out by the whole situation, this was definitely more intimidating than the usual suicide mission. If I crashed and burned this one, there could be a lot of collateral damage.

"Relax," Relena ordered in her bossy, all knowing way. "Every leader feels like that at first. Surround yourself by knowledgeable advisors, use your good judgment, and the rest will fall into place."

"Easier said than done," I monotoned, opening my eyes to stare blankly at the ceiling. "Why don't I just run for President of the United Nations while I'm at it?"

"Because that position is mine," Relena responded casually.

I lowered my head to look seriously at my two 'strategic advisors'. There had been some speculation, but this was the first confirmation I had heard regarding Relena's presidential intentions. Katrina looked a little smug, and I wondered just how close these two very different, very crafty women had gotten over the last week. "And you, Petrovsky? What position do you see for yourself?"

"I was thinking Deputy Prime Minister ," she replied wolfishly.

With Katrina as L2's Deputy PM, I could at least avoid fucking up the economy any worse, and a UN President Peacecraft would certainly be a powerful ally; and I couldn't forget Heero assisting with crime and corruption… it almost made the whole scenario plausible. I could find a position for union rep Peetah Ali, maybe even Hilde if she was interested. Quatre could probably offer some good financial advice, if not favorable trade agreements.

Fuck, this was still insane. But I let them continue to talk about the ridiculously named Operation Pendragon, and took them seriously enough to debate them on the finer points of their strategy and plans. It was almost inconceivable that I was going from street rat to terrorist to Prime Minister, and yet I helped conceive and execute those very plans. I guess I was just going to fake it 'til I make it, as usual.

Heero offered his support silently, at the meeting and generally, which I appreciated, but he wasn't much for bitching. Since I needed to coordinate with her anyway, I place a vidcall to Hilde.

"Duo!" she exclaimed. She looked tired, maybe even stressed, but good nonetheless. Hilde always had flourished under pressure.

"How goes it?"

She runs a hand through messy hair. "Busy busy busy, as usual. We've just begun coordinating our return with Port Authority, but with thirteen non-priority vessels it will take a while. Duo... there's nothing in place to care for some of these people when we dock at Mainport."

Now I felt guilty, so forget bitching about my own bad luck. "I know. Listen, I'm putting some things together here, so I will be able to do something, but it's going to take more time. The hospitals have been given priority, so the sick will have to go there for now."

"And what about the kids, Duo?," she appealed. "They have no place to go."

"I _know_, Hilde. Wasn't I the one who told you that we needed to evacuate them?" I sighed, trying to mix and match the various problems and solutions. "How 'bout this? There's a mostly finished building at the site of the old Maxwell Church Orphanage. It was going to be a new orphanage, meant to house 'bout a hundred. Take the kids there, along with any adults willing and healthy enough to help finish construction. I'll make sure you're sent emergency rations and basic supplies. Maybe we can even get the original work crew to pitch in, but that'll take longer to arrange."

Hilde's face softened a little, stress lifting. She must've been quite concerned for my half-formed idea to provide relief. Still, building an orphanage on the cheap, while occupied by dozens of shitty kids, was going to be a lot of thankless work, and we both knew it. "You'll be the death of me for sure," she teased tiredly. "And what's this thing you're supposedly putting together?"

I rolled my eyes for her benefit. "Petrovsky and Peacecraft want me to run for Prime Minister."

Hilde's mouth fell open comically, but only for moment, then she was laughing loudly, head flung back and mouth wide. "HAHAHA!"

This continued on for nearly a minute, with such contagious energy that I couldn't help chuckling a little myself. "Why are you and I the only ones who see how ridiculous this is?"

Hilde was wiping tears from her eyes, trying to calm herself. "Oh, Duo. This could only happen to you. I wish I was there, so I could scare the crap out of you with a hug."

"Hey!" I retorted in mock-offense, leading to more laughter.

"Don't forget your friends when you're a big fish in this putrid pond."

"Never," I responded honestly.

I signed off shortly, feeling a little better about the whole situation, and went to join Heero in the hospital room where we had set up temporary camp. We were supposed to be resting before getting up the next morning to continue piecing L2 back together, but instead I found myself deliberating and woolgathering in front of the bathroom mirror. Eventually, the door opened silently and Heero's reflection appeared over my shoulder. Our eyes met briefly in the mirror, then he was nuzzling my ear and neck and hair, his arms circling me from behind. "Prime Minister Maxwell."

I chuckled breathlessly, leaning heavily into the offered support. "It has a certain ring to it, I suppose. A certain shock value."

One hand left my hip to pull my braid to the side, exposing my neck to his rough lipped kisses. Heero was absorbed in this task for almost a minute before pulling away to eye his handiwork. "Shock and Awe has been shown to be a valid strategy when dealing with a primarily civilian population."

Then he blew lightly on the reddened, wet skin on my neck.

Fuck, was Heero trying to seduce me? Would wonders never cease? "Our specialty," I practically moaned.

Heero's eyes met and held mine in the mirror, as if daring me to stop him, just because I could. The hand still on my hip inched forward, into the front of my trousers to brush over my hardening prick. Heero's own anatomy was already stiff and rubbing between my buttocks, causing both excitement and fear… and worse yet, the fear itself causing arousal. I tried not to analyze it too closely, but I sensed that dysfunctional thinking had already manifested. I wanted Heero to fuck me, even though fucking equaled pain, maybe even because fucking equaled pained, because the thought of Heero hurting me also made me kinda hard. It wasn't even because of the violation, not alone anyway, it smacked too much of Shinigami. I'd hoped that I'd outgrown him, that we had grown up and away together – but here he was getting off on my pain! The same adrenaline that had allowed me to laugh at danger during the War was now lusting after the Perfect Soldier himself. I _liked _the fear. If it is didn't get the blood racing, it must be boring, right? Duo Maxwell, adrenaline junkie, fucked to death, fucked _by _the ultimate bringer of death.

At least I was reasonably certain that he wouldn't die on me like everyone else had. That half-coherent thought had the pendulum swinging back to lust, so I charged ahead with my usual blindness. "You can fuck this future Prime Minister if you want."

Heero's hands and lips stilled, only then bringing into relief the faint trembling of my own body. Long, weighted seconds passed, and I could only imagine Heero struggling to find the right words. It meant something that he would try, for me; and the reality of his quiet, undemanding affection slowly grounded me. Finally he leaned forward again to rest against my back, his lips brushing my ears, "Or the Prime Minister could fuck his loyal bodyguard."

Points to Heero, for once again proving he could come up with the right words when properly motivated, it was enough to melt any monster's heart – and to arouse a rape victim. I turned around in his arms, to press my weak erection into his hip and bury my flushing cheeks into the crook of his neck. The thought of, of _penetrating Heero_… was both thrilling and intoxicating, and I felt my breath increase involuntarily. But the fear of hurting him was not the sexy kind, nor even the fucked up Shinigami kind; it was the kind of terror that paralyzes little boys, that drives adults to irrational, seemingly incomprehensible acts. Fuck, was I breathing heavily or hyperventilating?

I forced a measured inhalation, picking up his comforting scent, then responded as calmly as I could, "I want to…," my voice cracked a little, but I continued on. "But I'm more afraid of hurting you than I am of getting hurt."

Heero let go of me, gently forcing enough space to look each other in the eyes. Despite my own turmoil, I finally picked up on the fact that Heero was struggling with our relationship as well. "Duo, you won't hurt me, that's established," he assured seriously. "Doctor J trained my body to endure all manner of pain and intrusion. I am confident that my body can accommodate any scenarios you are likely to consider."

I stared at him slack jawed for a moment, grasping at the implications of his words. Doctor J trained...? "What do you mean, _trained_?" I blurted, not knowing if I should feel pity or horror or anything beyond confusion.

Heero actually looked embarrassed! He hesitated for a long time before admitting, "Over a period of weeks, Doctor J instructed me to… penetrate myself with increasing large objects. Trained stretching of those muscles can minimize damage from forced penetration, along with a general desensitization regimen."

Definitely a little horrified by Doctor J; and I guess relieved that Heero felt nothing worse than embarrassment? "Too bad he didn't share his methods with Doctor G. I'm the one who needed fucking rape training!"

Okay, maybe a little more upset than I realized...

I hurried out of the suffocating confines of the small bathroom and plopped down on the appropriated gurney that was serving as my bed. Heero followed and cautiously joined me on the mattress, clearly waiting for my volatile reaction – which just pissed me off more. Why am I always the overly emotional one? Why has all this shit turned me into such a basket case? If I had been loved as a baby, raised by some good normal folks, I know I coulda been well adjusted.

"What Doctor J did, it doesn't bother you at all?" I asked defeatedly, incapable of sufficiently divorcing his 'training' from my own experiences. I glanced over to where Heero's hand was now splayed inches from mine on the gurney mattress.

Heero too was watching our hands when he finally spoke, "Not in the way you mean. At the time it was just another endurance test. The potential for pain was, is, no more concerning than any other... It does bother me though, because of how little I reacted to it at the time, both physically and mentally. I want to take you inside my body, to show you that it can be good, but I doubt my ability to respond differently than I did before. Sufficiently, I mean," Heero actually stumbled over the words, ducking his face as if to hide. "It is likely that Doctor J's desensitization training extends to more than my reactions to pain. You deserve someone who can do more than emulate the motions."

Heero's unexpected offerings of vulnerability soothed my hurt, stoked my protective instincts, and reminded me of our mutual discomfort in our own skins. For the first time, I thought that perhaps Heero and I are not so different as we might seem. Both of us were just trying to escape the psychological damage reaped upon us by almost two decades of shitty experiences. Sure, we had mutilated our personalities in different ways to cope, but now we were belatedly seeking a measure of stability with each other. We both wanted this relationship despite personal histories that had surely warped perceptions of sex and love and all that stuff. I allowed my arm to shift and my fingers entwined with his.

"I have someone who can do more than go through the motions," I reassured, pushing through the awkwardness and the cheese to what I knew was the truth. "I'm pretty sure we both got off at the Dungeon yesterday. The rest is just performance anxiety."

Heero appeared to consider that, though it could not've been an easy observation for him to digest. "That is not a problem I usually have," he said finally, almost seeming confused – and looking absolutely adorable. I was definitely hard for the rarely-sighted Vulnerable Heero.

I smiled widely at him, in amusement and adoration and lust and possibly every other positive emotion I had ever experienced. "No, I can't imagine that it is. Not with what you're packing."

It only took Heero a beat longer than it would have any normal teenage boy. He glanced at his lap; then he voiced contempt for his own actions, "It is ridiculous to derive confidence from penis size."

This time I did laugh in amusement. Heero's was probably a little above average, but that was certainly not the point of this exchange. I trailed my hand up his arm, moved my whole body closer to lean against his, then trailed my hand down his torso to rest on the rough material covering his groin. "Good thing, Mr. Cocky n Confident, or you'd be really unbearable."

"Hn." He turned his head to kiss me, a surprisingly sweet series of light kisses, then pulled back. Was he searching my face like I had often done to his? "You think I'm confident?"

Totally not what I was getting at, I think I might've even pouted a little. But the oddness of the question, coming from Heero of all people, made me take him seriously. "Aren't you? You're strong, smart, capable, brave – and you know it. That sounds like confidence to me."

He nodded once at that, seeming to accept my answer. "Yes, you're right." He carefully (nervously?) made eye contact again, "Which is why I should have admitted to my fear when you voiced yours."

My left hand grasped Heero's, but my free hand migrated up to rest gently on his cheek, trying to convey comfort. "What fear?"

"I do not fear pain at all, but I too am... afraid of hurting others. Of hurting you, now."

His words echoed coldly inside me for a moment. I wanted to reassure him, but my voice failed me for once, so I dropped my eyes and let my hand fall weakly to his shoulder. My big fat mouth wanted to come to the rescue, my jaw muscles working uselessly, but there was a painful fist clenched around my throat, reaching up from my burning lungs. The longer the silence continued, the more my inadequacy loomed, pointing glaringly at my inability to even _think_ too hard about an important issue in our new relationship-thing. Fuck, maybe I'm not ready for this –

"I do not want anything we do to resemble your capture," Heero said quietly, shifting around so that I could see him studying me in my peripheral vision. The scrutiny was uncomfortable, but paled next to my relief when he continued talking, keeping the burden of insight off me. "I have thought about those events frequently, even though I knew you would not want that... but it was only after helping you that I recognized my, my feelings."

Heero paused, his words easing the tension in me, between us, everywhere. When he spoke again, his proof tumbled out faster than I had ever heard him speak, "The plan was to terminate you, operating under the assumption that you had been irreparably compromised. When I saw you, you were damaged, but I only considered killing you for a second. And then later... It hurt me. To touch you and hurt you that way, I mean. I did not want to do that, I wanted... to comfort you, to protect you. I knew then that _I_ was emotionally compromised, and that I had compromised the mission for you. I've never felt like that towards anyone else."

Heero whispered his last words, and they revealed his thematic fear – that he was not capable of feeling like that towards anyone else, that he was not truly capable of feeling and caring at all with anyone. Somewhere during his long confession, I had turned to look at his sharp features, and now I leaned carefully towards him, so that shoulder rested on his and my temple pressed against his cheek.

God bless you, Heero. Not only did he find the words when I could not, but he countered my every hurt and vulnerability with his own pain and weakness. Whether or not an intentional strategy, it was flatteringly sensitive of Heero the Social Bludgeon. When he spoke of feelings, it was almost possible to believe.

"I love you too, Heero," I confessed, rubbing our cheeks together slowly. "And I've liked you for a long time."

Heero turned then and kissed me, with more intent this time, and I welcomed his tongue between my lips. Wet kisses were joined shortly by wandering hands and close bodies, until I was so horny and happy that there was no room for unpleasantness. I laid back on the gurney, pulling Heero with me so that we never broke contact, only lined up better. Heero let me rut against him for a couple minutes before gently pushing away. I watched him strip in sharp, efficient motions – boots unlaced with inhuman dexterity, shirt up over his head then tossed on the floor, hand on his pants. He paused then to look at me, "You're still dressed."

I knew I was staring, frozen like an idiot and definitely hard, but I wanted to savor the sight. I hadn't much opportunity last time, and I found Heero ridiculously sexy. He was slim but muscular, like long steel coils, every movement rippling through his body. But what I liked the most was the contrast of the tented pants, pebbled nipples, and reddened mouth with the soldier's disciplined stance and physique. God help me, I _liked_ the way he was looking at me like a lion stalking prey. It was intoxicating to feel the intensity of his full attention, and I wanted nothing more.

I moved to undress, but when I was too slow in removing my boots, Heero took matters into his own hands. He pushed me back onto the gurney and worked my laces like a boy scout, then he pulled me back up to 'help' me with my shirt and cop a bit of a feel. I was laughing by the time his lips found their way back to mine, and we struggled out of our pants most inefficiently. He eventually shifted away to let me kick away our clothing, then returned instead to inspect my turgid dick.

I indulged this behavior for a dozen seconds before I had to ask, "Now I know there's no monster pimple down there. What're you looking at?"

"I want to taste you," the predator responded, never taking his eyes off of my swollen dick.

I was totally starring in my own porno, so why not say the first thing that came to mind? "Eat me then," the prey commanded.

Heero purposely placed his hands on my hips, then leaned down for a controlled lick from base to tip. I shivered, but kept silent, already anticipating the pleasant torture of being Heero's sexual experiment. He continued to lick my shaft first, concentrating on the underside, then migrated up to the tip. His tongue circled the ridge and poked wetly into the slit, and only then did my first quiet gasps escape. Like a predator sensing weakness, he moved to suck lightly on the tip and then worked the whole dick – which I rewarded with louder moans.

There was no doubt who was in control of this blowjob as Heero stopped ("Hey!") to continuing his exploration, leaning farther down to lick my balls ("Unh!"). His tongue was surely as dexterous as his fingers as it ran along the tightened skin of my testicles, retreating momentarily to allow soft nibbling on either thigh. I was a squirming, panting mess, my dick and balls wet with saliva; I barely registered when Heero used his grip on my hips to roll me onto my side, allowing just enough access to tongue along my asscrack.

The touch on my buttocks triggered a small shock of adrenaline and I jerked away instinctively, looking over my shoulder at the suddenly unsettling sight of a man between my legs, "Heero?"

His hands softened on my hips, almost caressing the skin there with his thumbs, but did not let go. "Can I taste you there too?" he asked boldly.

I felt my face burn with embarrassment, but I could barely identify the strange emotions rising in my gut. Not fear exactly, but perhaps a churning mesh of discomfort, disbelief, desire?

"Why would you want to?" I asked skeptically, though my initial resistance was fading. For all my understanding of Heero, he could still be a mystery.

"I do want to," he responded immediately, confidently, nuzzling my cheeks with his face so that the following words were slightly muffled, "It doesn't make sense… I want to soothe the pain there."

Fuck, Heero! I didn't think that would be as easy as tonguing my ass like a cat tending a wound, but his words moved me and reconnected me to the love and affection that we were trying to manifest in this shabby bed. Given our established sexual hang-ups, did I really want to deny an intimate act that was not tainted by our previous experiences?

"Okay."

I quickly turned to burry my face in the lumpy pillow, trying to suffocate my embarrassment, and trying to relax my body as Heero pushed my upper leg forward, exposing me to his sharp scrutiny. His fingers traced across my ass cheeks towards the crevice, then parted them gently, causing me to shiver. I was breathing unevenly by now, but it was hard to divorce the lust from the anxiety. Then Heero's warm tongue was laving between my crack. I couldn't control the shudders prompted by his wet touches, but Heero braced me firmly between the mattress and himself, allowing him to rub his tongue along the ring of my asshole again and again.

"Heero!" I finally cried, legs trembling and dick leaking. My hand moved of its own volition to pull at the neglected organ, pleasure ratcheting up through my body. Heero's onslaught on my asshole was causing small spasms in the muscles there, until one of them let his tongue slip through. I grunted and tensed automatically, but Heero didn't back down an inch, his tongue circling and slowly pushing forward. It felt weird, but in a sorta good way, so I let my hand resume its pumping, and then Heero was pushing in and out in the same rhythm, tongue-fucking me until it felt really good and I was pushing back…

Heero never let up, but I felt his weight shift and only then did I turn my head away from the thin pillow, craning my neck a little to look over my shoulder. Heero's face was buried between my ass cheeks still, one hand holding his weight and the other fisting his own swollen dick. Heero was getting off on this, had apparently spoke the truth about what he wanted. He wanted me, he wanted me to fuck him, he wanted me like this healed of pain and exploding in pleasure –

My muscles seized and then my orgasm was pulsing through me like slow electricity, blurring vision and tingling every nerve. "Heero!"

My body eased then, and I savored long seconds of blissful rest. Then I turned to that crazy 01. He had slipped off the gurney to stand, hair and mouth utterly debauched, watching me and stroking himself vigorously. I smiled lecherously and resolved to do something nice for Heero, for being such a generous lover and general wet dream material. I really wanted to suck that solid dick, but doubted my own ability to improvise when he was so close to cumming. Instead I stood, feeling very affectionate in my post-coital haze, and plastered myself to Heero's back. He let his hand drop away as I took over the job, stroking him just the way he had stoked himself, tight strokes at a solid speed. He leaned back into me with rarely displayed trust, and I kissed his ears and neck, my hips moving suggestively with his own rocking movements. It would take a little longer than that for me to recover, so for now we would have to content ourselves with the fantasy.

"Someday soon, Heero, I'm gonna take you up on your offer. I'm gonna bury myself inside you. My dick'll be so hard and big for you, it'll be a good thing that you can accommodate me. I'm gonna stretch you, and pound your sweet ass, and you're gonna love it. You're gonna love me."

Heero had been mostly quiet so far, but now he groaned loudly and I quickened the pace of my strokes for his impending climax. He managed a few more irregular thrusts, punctuated by grunts, "Duo! I do! I love you!"

And then he was leaning heavily into me, cumming between my fingers in long hot spurts. I smiled giddily into his shoulder, savoring the happy cheese of the moment. If he could lick away my pain, I should be able to fuck some love into him, right? What luck that our broken bits aligned so well.

We stood like that for a couple minutes, just holding each other, but then broke apart to clean up. In less than six hours we were heading off to meet with the air filtration workers, and then the waste disposal workers, and we were both thoroughly exhausted. This was not the most opportune time to be exploring my relationship with Heero, I knew it, but there was no stopping our teenage hormones now. I would just have to become Heero's lover and Prime Minister at the same time, I vowed to myself, and then put all those thoughts on hold for tomorrow.

We slept in separate gurneys pushed up next to each other, both curled inwards, Heero's fingers loosely gripping my braid.

! ! !

Believe me, the last thing you want to hear are the subsequent details of my election to office, as the whole process was boring a shit. In sum, I forced myself to give up the constant complaining, and to commit in spirit to this undertaking, however frustrating. Relena and Katrina wheeled and dealed as I gave facetime to the who's who of L2, and within a week I was nominated and accepted as interim Prime Minister. I spent the following two months before the official election trying to get the colony up and running again, though restricted powers moderated those efforts. I refused to waste much time campaigning, to Katrina's ire, but it hardly mattered. She had campaigned enough for both of us, and my current and past efforts on behalf of L2 spoke for themselves. The weak (if well funded) opposition wasn't up to the competition, and I consistently polled well above industry tycoon Maro Lal.

Relena and most of her ESUN troops left shortly after I became interim PM, with a small but well-established company remaining to ensure continued order; plus one Preventer. Officially Heero would be forming a Preventer branch on L2 once I got elected, but until then he was following Une's orders to coordinate my 24 hour security. Apparently there were underground rumors of local high-ups that would rather see me dead than in office, but that's just the name of the game on L2. Heero, of course, took to his role with characteristic thoroughness and zeal.

I wanted to maintain my position of not needinga bodyguard, of being able to take care of myself, but I couldn't refuse if it was Heero; which made me wonder a little at 01's endgame. Did he _want _to babysit his terrorist-turned-politician boyfriend? If I thought giving speeches and negotiating agreements between blockheaded locals was tedious, I can only imagine how boring it was for Heero to just observe and be on guard the whole time. Sounded like a shit gig to me, but I guess that there were a lot of those going around these days.

Which is exactly what I thought to myself during the negotiation proceedings between the following: the transportation union, represented by Dana Jackson; the recently appointed head of the newly created ex-offender reintegration initiative, Tanaka Makio; and Erik Keller, owner of the largest transportation company on L2. I do consider ex-offender integration an important issue, but by the third hour of getting nowhere, it was getting late, and I would've preferred a shootout for its quick resolution.

"... Transportation is not the industry for them to prove their trustworthiness, here mistakes kill," Keller reasoned against hiring ex-offenders, and not for the first time this evening. "Send them to Tarusca Pow's, he hires criminals."

"Driving and piloting errors are not the mistakes that these people have committed," Makio argued, inexperienced but at least impassioned. "In a lot of cases, it's their only skill, their only means to make a living. They don't want to evict poor people or collect loans on Pow's goon squad."

"And I feel for them," Keller replied indifferently, "But if they make a mistake or even commit a crime while working, I could be held responsible by wounded parties."

"No judge would rule you responsible just because the employee had an unrelated offense on his record," Dana stated, on our side but unwilling to alienate Keller. "Precedent shows that."

"It doesn't matter," Keller returned, never budging an inch. "Jumping through hoops in court costs time and money."

I was particularly tired of Keller's repeated references to money and the bottom line, probably fishing for a bribe. Since this is how it had worked under the old regime, he can be forgiven a degree, but he also need to be firmly put in place. Another one of my specialties, and I was done playing nice. "Look, Erik," I blurted, leaning forward and reentering the conversation abruptly. "You're not getting any bribes, if that's why you're still talking to us after cockblocking for over two hours."

The shocked expression on his face spurned me on, so I stood up and made myself as intimidating as possible. "In fact, the only reason I'm not going to arrest you this time is because I need you to spread the word. Bribery is officially illegal again, and punishable by law. Next time, _Erik_, you'll serve time."

Keller was torn between fear and disbelief, "I didn't! You can't –"

"Actually, I can," I interrupted. "I'm a teen terrorist on a powertrip, didn't you know?" Keller sputtered, but I bowled on, "That aside, I think you have a valid argument regarding your compensation for the risk. Perhaps employees with backgrounds can pay higher practice insurance premiums."

Keller was completely thrown by my turn around, so it was Tanaka Maiko that voiced his concern, "It is too easy to make premiums prohibitively expensive."

"Dana?," I turned to the rep for the Transportation Union. Our various needs and resources were piecing themselves together in my head like machine parts. "It seems to me that the union should be able to negotiate a lower group rate, and help absorb some of the individual cost."

Dana frowned for a few seconds, twisting on a blond lock of hair, before she slowly nodded. "That might be doable. If a reasonable rate can be agreed on."

Then three sets of eyes turned to Erik Keller. This experience was obviously not what he had in mind, but I was glad to disappoint and Keller did not really have a choice. Only a fool would intentionally make an enemy out of the current, and likely future, PM of the colony. Indeed, Keller reluctantly agreed and then left sulkily. I'd probably already made an enemy out of him, and I'm sure there are more to come. My eyes skittered over to where Heero had been keeping watch in the corner. My bodyguard.

I turned off the recorder as Maiko stood and bid us farewell. I got to my feet slower, only to have my way blocked by Dana. She was only a little older than me and had taken the opportunity to flirt with me a number of times, so I was hardly surprised by her compliments, "You were really impressive in there, Duo. The way you told Keller off and then came up with the solution like it was all cool and easy. It was great to watch his face!"

Dana was giggling and I had to laugh, cuz putting Keller in his place had been pretty awesome. "Served him right, trying to get a bribe out of me! I'm the cheapest bastard ever, and I just hope my reputation precedes me next time."

Dana smiled widely, batting her eyes, and leaned closer to wrap her arm around mine. "Let's go get a drink to celebrate," she suggested, lightly pulling me towards the door.

I took a couple steps with her, but only to extricate my arm. "I'm sorry, Dana, I can't. Heero and I have another engagement to get to."

Now we were stopped, facing each other. Dana placed her hand on my forearm and was pouting, "This late, and after a hard day? Surely the Prime Minister can make some flexibility in his schedule? Everyone needs some stress relief, don't they?"

I felt my face flush a little at the allusion, and my eyes flickered to Heero. His expression was steely and his body on high alert, so he had probably heard and understood her. It was a sinking realization that I had already let the situation progress too far. I again pulled my arm away, "No. I really do have someplace to be, and I'm not going to be _that _kind of Prime Minister."

Dana was pretty enough that she was probably unaccustomed to being turned down, and she seemed to search my face for an explanation. When she gave up she said, "Okay, Duo. I'm sorry to push. You give me a call if you have time, alright?"

I nod as my only concession, "Good-bye, Dana."

Dana looked over at Heero then, and whatever she saw had her beating a hasty retreat. Then she was gone and that deadly presence was behind me. I shivered reflexively and my dick began to fill, predictably at this point. Scary Heero was almost as much of a turn on as Caring Heero.

"She wanted to have sex with you," Heero stated, sounding as detached as ever.

I shrugged, walking several steps to close and lock the door before turning around to look at Heero. He had followed behind me and now stood close, rigid and fully under control. I tried to ease the tension by teasing, "Yeah, well, I'm kinda cute, I've had a few offers before you. And when I really am Prime Minister of this shithole, I'll probably have the girls throwing themselves at me. Every teenage boy's wet dream."

That only made Heero's brow draw together in a little frown, softer than his usual scowl. "Then why turn down Jackson's offer?"

Now I'm frowning too. We'd had as many intimate discussions as one would expect from two secretive teenage males, but I hadn't thought this part required explication. "Because I'm in a relationship with you?" I suggested, doubt growing with every word. I used the word in my mind, but neither of us had ever said it out loud.

"A relationship with her might benefit you more than one with me," Heero argued quietly, eyes leveled too low to meet mine.

"Benefit...?" I trailed off, at a loss and beginning to get upset. Where was this coming from? We had our difficulties, but that was only to be expected between two such fractious and warped personalities. He constantly harangued me about security and doubled the time to do everything by taking unnecessary precautions; I constantly ignored his concerns and usually succeeded in laughing my way out of any serious conversations. He still exercised compulsively and was prone to long periods of unwelcoming, unreadable silence; I still had nightmares and startled occasionally at even expected touches. We bickered frequently and clashed daily, just as we always had (though now with the occasional makeup sex), me overflowing with emotion and him parched of the same. Both of us were navigating choppy, uncharted waters, mined with the gory explosives of our tortured pasts, but surely rich with treasures just the same. From my myopic perspective, we seemed like a good match.

I reached out and took his warm hand, trying to reach out in every way. "I don't think that's supposed to be a factor in loving someone."

Heero finally met my eyes, where I fancied seeing my doubts mirrored. "A normal relationship with a healthy woman would be easier. Politically, personally, and sexually."

"Fuck! Blunt much, Heero?" I dropped his hand immediately and took a quick step back, unprepared for the burn of his taboo words. I glared at him but his face held no further answers, and fear began to feed my anger. "I don't care about the politics, and neither do you, so don't give me that crap. What's the real problem?" I hissed the next words dangerously, "Our personal and sexual lives? Too challenging for you?"

"No!" Heero stepped closer but did not touch me, which is a good thing, because for a moment I had the urge to lash out. "Of course not. I have no other options, there is no one else who understands me, no one else whose presence I can tolerate intimately. But you, you have other options. You could be with someone more capable of a real relationship, Duo. You could be with a woman, whose advances you could accept naturally."

My emotions ran the gamut, from insulted at being considered his only option, to pity for his sadly logical benefit analysis, to exasperation at just how far off the mark he was. Obviously Heero still had a long way to go before he normalized his own utilitarian perception of the world, not that I was anyone to judge. My anger cooled quickly in the absence of malice, and I tried to see past my own turbulent emotions to focus on Heero's. What I could not read in his face, I could still extrapolate from his words, however circuitous.

I grabbed both hands this time, squeezing harder to reassure myself and him, scrambling for the words to make him understand. "You're wrong, Heero. I don't have any other options either. You're the only one who really knows _me_, the fucked up me that I can't be with anyone else. And, and..." Okay, so this was proving hard to say, but I forced the strangled words, "I don't think I'm interested in girls at all."

I was blushing furiously, and my throat felt painfully tight, but I held Heero's gaze, and miracle of miracles my arguments seemed to be actually getting through to him. The tension in his shoulders and brow lessened, so I pushed my advantage, "And even if I was, Heero, you're the only one I'm in love with. So, whether or not I have other options, you're the best option for me."

Heero smiled a little sheepishly, as though relieved, and with a pang of guilt I wondered if this altercation was as much my fault as his. We had both used the 'l' word a couple times, ironically because using the label was easier than having to describe its confusing effects. I certainly didn't want to discuss the reticent longings of my body, or to detail my shy desire for companionship and security; and I doubt Heero did either. It was much simpler just to call it love and be done with it.

Except that neither of us had enough experience with love to really comprehend the meanings and implications of the word we had brandished so willingly. My understanding of Heero's efficient nature was enough that I felt safe interpreting his clumsy interest and actions as genuine; but with less understanding of me and emotions generally, what assurance did Heero have of my own feelings? We had never talked about what being in love meant to us or for our future. I was flirty and lightly demonstrative in private, which he likely had difficulty differentiating from my normal friendly demeanor. And I rarely initiated or was aggressive during our sexual activities, which he likely interpreted as reluctance, however justified. I was dismayed to conclude that Heero essentially doubted the strength of my affection for him.

To this strange seventeen-or-something-year-old boy, his doubt was an undeniable challenge to my manhood and desired status of great lover! My libido clearly had enough pride and enthusiasm to compensate for common sense, because I resolved then and there to damn well prove to Heero how much I wanted him. If actions were the only thing the Neanderthal could understand, then I would have to show my man some action! Right in the damn meeting room if necessary.

We were both tense and on edge, so I moved slow but with purpose. My hands traveled lightly up his arms, along his shoulders, up his neck to gently splay across his jaw and cheek and ear. Heero was watching me closely, but I could already tell from the dilation of his eyes that his body had sensed the change in mood. I dipped into his space first, my hands softly urging his face closer to mine. When he came close enough, I attacked his mouth as sensuously as a goofball like me is capable, good enough that we were breathing harder when our lips parted again. Our bodies remained touching, putting pressure in all the right places, and I gently took Heero's wrist, guiding his hand down to my increasingly impressive hard on.

"You feel that?" I whispered with our shared air. "That's how much I want you, Heero. Not Dana, or Hilde, or any other girl. And not any other guy either." What I couldn't say was: I only feel safe with you, Heero.

Heero softly nuzzled my nose and cheek, his hand lightly grasping me though my pants even as he objected, "This is not a secure place for sexual activity."

I nibbled on his earlobe for a moment, enjoying the sensation of his strong fingers, my own hands moving to his waist. "Too bad," I breathed into his hear. "Cuz I really want to fuck you right now. And I don't think it can wait 'til the hotel."

Heero went very still then, and I thought perhaps I had said the wrong thing, before he reluctantly conceded, "Perhaps it's secure enough."

A grin ate up my face, so big that Heero must've felt it where our cheeks met. He must've wanted it pretty bad to agree to such a location! If we'd been a normal couple, maybe I would've felt bad about fucking my boyfriend for the first time in a meeting room; but in our case, we had no home and were instead moving from one temporary arrangement to the next. Perhaps the current hotel was the most appropriate place to consummate our lust, but only because of security and convention. It was all just space to us.

I allowed my fingers to slip past his waistband, then deftly rubbed the muscles of his lower back, and in response, Heero tightened his grip on my dick. Our lips met again, wet and hot as Heero bucked into me, my hands clutching their way south. "Damn, Hee-chan," I broke away with a breathless laugh. "Your ass is solid rock."

"That's good?" He looked completed dazed, and I congratulated myself.

I also laughed a little, as I took off my blazer. "Yes, that's good. Your ass could probably bend steal if it needed to, so I'm pretty sure it can handle mere human flesh... Now strip, I want to look at my wonderful specimen of manliness."

Despite my head start, Heero's multi-pocketed Preventor fatigues came off much quicker than my suit (whadya think the interim PM has to wear, however cool?). He had several seconds of watching before I could return his smoldering regard. I had a couple of inches on him by this point, but his ropy muscles were better defined than ever. It was not the Perfect Soldier with me here and now, but in some ways he was still perfect.

A tide of affection prompted me to reassure him again, "I do want you, Heero. And I don't want you to doubt that. If this relationship is difficult, it's because _we_'re difficult, not just you. I don't even care, I barely even noticed. I've had to work for almost everything I've wanted, and I want you. Now, later, as long as I can have you. _Right _now, I really want to fuck your very firm and sexy ass."

Heero returned my smile then, a real grin by his meager standers. Naked, shorn hair and a smile, he barely looked like the teen terrorist whom I had met years ago in a shootout, over Relena of all people. I closed the distance between us, leaning in for a quick kiss and my hands returning to their previous positions on his buttocks.

"I – " Heero was actually gonna try to talk now? I'd like to see him try. I carefully palmed each of his cheeks, finger pads dipping low.

"I want you too," he finished with a soft groan, his own arms wrapping around my torso. My fingers squeezed lightly, then gently moved each cheek in small circles. Heero's flesh was hard in my hands, and hard pressed against my hip too.

"I want to you to enjoy this, tell me how you like it," I mouthed into his skin by his ear, the sound and taste and feel of him making my dick throb.

"I like..." He smelt good, like soap and sweat and – I licked boldly along his jugular and his body jerked slightly in response.

"What? Tell me," I demanded, using my leverage on his ass to rub against his dick and pelvis. I bet no one had ever asked him that question, about sex or anything else, certainly no one had ever asked me.

"I like how, how you..." He was having so much difficulty getting the words out that I took a break from my sensual assault to look at him. I felt a deep empathy for his inner battle, forcing the revealing words past the insecurity, "I like when you talk to me."

"Hunh?" That wasn't what I was expecting, and it took me a moment to realize that he probably didn't mean the fact that I blather constantly. "You mean dirty talk?"

Heero gave me a funny look, and I wondered if he even knew the term. He was still noticeably flustered, but he barreled on, "I like when you tell me what, what you're going to do, so it's not unexpected. I like when you tell me what you want, so that I know what to do. I don't like uncertainty."

So not dirty talk exactly, but feedback and direction, and I understood what he meant like no one else would've. I too found it challenging to relax in the face of the uncertainty and Heero's people-blindness surely made it as hard for him to read me as it was for me to read his generally unrevealing demeanor. Isn't that what this whole exchange had been about really, communicating with each other about what we wanted? If Heero needed is spelled out, then I could do that.

"Okay, then, Heero. You asked for it." I broke away from him to retrieve his pants, and I retrieved the gun oil from the pocket where it was always stored. He was predictable in his order. I held up the tube, and with the other hand pointed to the table. "I want you on that table, because I'm gonna stretch your ass before I fuck you until we both cum all over each other. Front or back, your choice."

He was watching me carefully, but then he moved efficiently to brace his forearms on the desk, presenting his strong legs and ass to me. I was a little disappointed that I wouldn't be seeing his face, but I understood the impulse towards concealment, and with it self-preservation. I placed the oil on the table for a moment to stroke my hands up his solid legs, along his sides and up to his shoulders. I draped my body over his for a moment, just long enough to nestle my dick between his cheeks. Then I drew up, one hand trailing down his back as the other grabbed the tube of gun oil and popped the top.

It smelled like, well, gun oil, but that was better and more familiar than the acerbically clean smell of the meeting room. I squirted the makeshift lube on my fingers and rubbed them together. "I'm gonna touch you now. Are you ready?"

He grunted his ascent, so I reached out with my clean hand and soothed his lower back, where I could feel the tension. We were both nervous apparently, yet another thing we had in common. I gently parted his cheek to look at the small, tight ring there. I was curious, and I had tentatively fingered him before because of that curiosity, but this was a whole new ballgame. My dick was probably seven inches long, and as wide as three, maybe four fingers. How was this not going to hurt?

I must've taken too long, cuz Heero showed rare perception by growling, "You won't hurt me. I want you to. Please."

Fuck, Heero never said please. I reached out with my slick thumb and rested it on his clenched hole, which tightened reflexively before relaxing. I rubbed gently for a moment before Heero pushed back suddenly and we both gasped as I slipped in. With my thumb gripped by that tight hole, the rest of my fingers could grab one small cheek, and I had the leverage to circle the encased digit, again and again; and then again, easing through the little spasms. I heard a muffled groan and Heero's weight shifted, so I looked up to see his head draped down, I could picture him trying to keep silent.

"Don't bite your lip off," I warned, then withdrew my thumb and quickly replaced it with two fingers. He clenched again before easing up and I carefully worked my way in, twisting and backing up and burrowing farther and farther until Heero was pushing back with each thrust. It did get easier, and smoother, and faster, and maybe my dick would fit there, tight and hot and now wet.

"Now. Do it now," Heero ordered roughly, his hole tightening around my fingers in anticipation. I pulled out and used my slippery hand to coat up my hard dick.

"You're amazing, perfect," fell from my mouth without thinking, because Heero really was. "I want to fuck you so bad." Then I used that hand to line up with the loosened ring, to rub the muscle open and push in –

Heero's body tensed immediately at the intrusion, but in the next beat he forced it to relax, and my mind flickered to thoughts of his training. I looked down to see his hole stretched around the head of my dick, and it made my head spin with overwhelming lust and mild nausea. I tore my eyes away from the obscene sight, and leaned my forehead against his neck.

"Keep going," he grunted and I nodded powerlessly against his sweaty skin. I eased my hips forward cautiously; easing, easing, through mild resistance, until I was fully seated and Heero's legs trembled slightly, and a stuttering moan escaped his lips. I raised up again, just enough to see our bodies joined by my root buried deep in his asshole.

"Oh God, Heero. I really need to fuck you now. Please, please let me fuck you," I rasped, hips already grinding minutely into him, my hands caressing his flanks and hips.

"Yes, yes, now," he rumbled throatily, so I pulled out quickly and snapped back hard enough that we both grunted loudly. I already felt short of breath, but breathing didn't help, so I pulled out and thrust again, and again, fiercely, steadily, steadfastly pursuing the fire that burned away in my dick, in my _loins_, that made me want to crawl right up through Heero's hot entrance and fuse with him.

Heero, for his part, was muffling his groans and grunts poorly, and was bucking back so hard that my thrusts were almost redundant. With his arms bracing our weight on the table, I was able to lean forward enough to grab his dick, which I proceeded to manhandle as our fucking became increasingly erratic and desperate. It was not the cautious, exploratory sex of the previous six weeks, but more akin to animals in heat, rutting frantically for endless sweaty minutes. Not facing each other, but a beast with two backs nonetheless.

"You're so fucking tight! I love fucking your tight hole!" fell from my mouth, on autopilot now by my lover's apparent request, and my thrusts punctuating my words.

Heero's rhythm suddenly changed, so that he jerked and bucked violently, clenching forcefully around my dick until his stiffened and released a long groan of heartfelt relief, "Unnnhhh!"

I felt wet warmth on my hand, and I thrust a few more times into Heero's relaxing body, allowing my pride and pleasure to overtake me. "Heero! I'm cumming, I'm cumming inside you!"

Then I too flew over the edge, into the abyss, spilling deep into Heero and freefalling into ecstatic freedom...

A couple exhausted minutes later, I was carefully easing out and pulling away, covered in sweat, gun oil, and other odorous substances. We'd have to avoid others before we had a chance to shower, which would've been impossible if the negotiations hadn't lasted so damn late. Heero turned around, and I was strangely relieved to see his familiar face. As unrevealing as his expression was, he still looked thoroughly fucked.

"How was that? Are you okay?" I was now the one needing assurances, despite reasonable evidence that we had both enjoyed recent events.

"That was very satisfying..." Was that surprise on his face? He shifted his weight conspicuously, a little smile appearing, "And I am functional, if not yet fully."

I laughed loudly, free to literally erupting with relief and happiness. "HAHAHA! That was definitely a joke! Don't worry, babe, I'm not fully functional now either! Give me an hour though, then we'll need a status report."

Heero actually chuckled along for a moment, and I had to think for a second, but I'm reasonably sure that it was the first time I had ever heard him laugh. Not scorn, or mock, but really appreciate humor. "I'll be out of commission at least until tomorrow," he replied, visibly trying to keep it up.

I smirked at his sexy self for a moment, savoring the rare and rich delicacy of self-satisfaction. "That was great, Heero. Thank you. And I'll try to tell you that more in the future."

He looked away awkwardly, but I didn't want any embarrassment or miscommunication now. I pulled him back into my arms, and placed a light kiss on his nose, then I whispered, "I knew it'd be good, Heero. Your body's perfect in its capacity for both pleasure and pain."

"So's yours," he returned quietly.

! ! !

A couple weeks later the election was held. Despite or because of voting stations being guarded by ESUN troops, the poor and the working class showed in unprecedented numbers, providing me a large margin of victory. The expedited nature of the election meant that I was to officially assume office a week later, during the dreaded Inauguration ceremony. Both Heero and I hated such pompous affairs, and this one was sure to be the worst since Relena had forced all the Gundam pilots to ceremoniously accept medals about a year ago. On the plus side, Quartre, Trowa, Hilde, and Howard had all confirmed their attendance, and Relena too, though that was neither here nor there.

Heero had been sullenly on my case about security the entire week before, but there was no way to make him happy. There were going to be a lot of people there, who would be required to show identification and pass through a security scanner, but that did not even begin to cover all the threat potentials. It was the nature of these big public events; they were always security nightmares and that is only one of the many reasons we hated them.

The Inauguration itself went smoothly. I took the stage, made a prepared speech (approved by Relena herself), and then took my vows of office before a dozen cameras. What followed at the party was the real ordeal, as I was subjected to endless introductions, insinuations, flirtation, obsequiousness, and on and on. It was like the opening of Duo's Dungeon, only much much worse. I started out stuffing a pastry in my mouth every time I wanted to say something inappropriate, but gave up after an hour when I felt faintly queasy from overeating.

Relena Peacecraft, in her position as Vice Foreign Minister, got early face time. With a little curtsey, she engaged, "Congratulations, Prime Minister Maxwell."

"Call me, Duo, please," I imitated with only mild sarcasm, taking her proffered hand for a moment. "And I must say, I couldn't've done it without your assistance and encouragement. You have my thanks."

"You are a credit to your colony, Duo," she stated honestly. "I look forward to working with you in the future. I hope this is a beginning of a long, rewarding relationship."

Her eyes flickered over my shoulder to where my steely boyfriend was surely standing a few meters away. He had been on high alert all day, and I had been resisting the urge to look at him for the likely nonexistent support. Now, with Relena's lead, I glanced over at him. He stood rigid, stance ready and eyes flickering constantly over the crowd. I realized suddenly that I rarely thought of him as the Perfect Soldier anymore. I had come to understand that such an imposition of my own issues was unfair to Heero. He had been warped too, but he had not suffered the same division as I. I had once been metaphorically split into Shinigami and Duo, and so had sought my reintegration; perhaps the better metaphor for Heero was that he had once been skinned of his humanity, and so now sought to regrow what he had lost.

"You'll take care of him, won't you?" Relena asked, interrupting my thoughts. I turned my attention back to her, to see that she was watching me closely.

I was usually good at hiding behind masks, but the subject of Heero still made me squirm. "He takes pretty good care of himself."

Relena shrugged casually. "He's got the basics covered, but he needs help with the living part of life. And he seems set on you being the one to help him. Lady Une had him on my security detail for a while, but I knew that he wasn't happy. He was just waiting for an opportunity to leave."

My eyes narrowed with instinctive suspicion, before I forced myself to back off a little. Relena was the closest thing Heero had to a friend, comparable in some ways to Hilde, and I could at least believe that she genuinely cared for him. "He'll come to no harm from my hands. I believe we are finding mutual benefit in each other."

"His words, I'm sure," Relena grumped, and I had to smile in our apparently shared experience. That smidge of sympathy was the last straw. It had taken a long time, but I was finally succumbing to her charms.

I reached out to grasp Relena's forearm; she looked surprised, but not unwilling. "I think our shared interests will take us far together, Vice Foreign Minister... Call if you ever need a friend on L2."

Relena smiled sweetly, but I still had no idea how she had gotten so far in politics. Did anyone like her right away? Surely she didn't orchestrate a sexy love triangle to ensnare all her associates?

We chatted amicably for a few more minutes before she took her leave, abandoning me to more unremembered introductions and unsolicited offers. This continued for nearly an hour before Hilde and Howard managed to wade their way through the ass-kissers and bureaucrats, and I was ready to kill for a normal conversation.

"Hilde, Howard! My favorite natives!" I actually gave them both quick, impromptu hugs. Howard hadn't aged a day in the year since I had seen him in person, and Hilde looked better than ever in her little black dress. I had visited Hilde a couple times in the last month, at the now open and mostly finished Father Maxwell Memorial Orphanage, of which she had appointed (herself) permanent director.

"Mr. Prime Minister," Hilde cooed and batted her eyes.

Howard smirked, and mock-bowed, "Your supreme Prime Ministership."

"It's pretty crazy, isn't it?" I laughed at their antics.

"You sure had me fooled," Howard said jovially. "When we first met, I suspected I had a little terrorist on my hands. But never our next great political leader."

"I fooled myself too!" I returned with a smile. "And we'll see about great. I still don't know how this all happened, apart from the fact that I am inexplicably popular."

"Inexplicably, Duo?" Hilde challenged with her usual half-cocked passion. "As if fighting heroically for L2 wasn't enough, you actually won the Beltway Race. Once legit elections allowed the people to vote, you had it in the bag. We all fucking love you, you stupid asshole."

She lurched forward and hugged me again, delivering a quick kiss to the cheek. "Congratulations, you deserve success. No one has ever had to fight harder."

As she withdrew I asked, "How's the Orphanage?"

I was always interested in updates about that project, and had been returning Hilde's calls like never before. She did not disappoint, "As well as can be expected. We're down to sixty-two kids, we've located kin for three more. The classroom for the older grades is complete, and we want to hire a second full-time teacher. If the funds are available."

Hilde was going to be an excellent Director, and I was always going to be a pushover on this front. "The funds will be available shortly."

Hilde looked smug, and I turned to Howard, "How's Peacemillion?"

"As well as can be expected. She's woefully overqualified for the jobs she's been taking."

"Oh no! That's exactly the mindset that'll land you in a shitstorm of your own making," I warned from my own experience.

But Howard was looking over my shoulder, squinting at my shorn bodyguard. "Is that Yuy over there?"

I glanced over to where Heero was now scowling, talking quickly into his communicator. Our eyes met briefly and I knew something was very wrong. Suddenly he was running out way, bellowing, "TAKE COVER!"

Hilde dived to the ground and I pulled Howard down with me, attempting to cover them both. That was all the warning we got –

B-BLAM!

Something near me shattered, sending a shockwave of shrapnel and heat outward like clap of lighting. Indeterminate pain lanced through my body as debris rained down. I was deafened by the explosion, and the absence of sound narrowed the scope of my senses. My narrow field of vision saw only carnage and flames.

"Fire! Move, move! Fire!" I yelled, trying to scramble to my feet, but my thigh buckled under my weight and I fell over jarringly. I struggled to my elbows and looked down at the large shard of shrapnel embedded in my leg, now spurting bright red blood in steady pulses. Time slowed for a brief moment as I watched this hypnotizing wound for a short eternity. This hole in my leg was Death, and my exchange with Him over the next minutes would determine my future.

I grabbed my leg above the wound, barely registering the excruciating pain, trying to staunch the bleeding a least a little. I turned to Hilde and Howard, who were just getting up and gathering their wits. "I'm bleeding out," I mouthed loudly, though I could barely hear myself. I was already beginning to feel somewhat lightheaded, but I met their dazed stares head on.

"Help!" Howard ordered abruptly, kneeling before me and wrapping his arm around my ribs. Hilde followed suit on the other side of my body, my arms draped over each of their shoulders, and then they were easily lifting me. We half-stumbled through of the growing flames, through the chaotic sea of injured and fleeing. I wanted to help, I wanted to look for Heero, but I was having trouble focusing on anything. Even my good leg could hardly bare any weight, and every jostle, every bump from a terrified victim rattled agony from my injured thigh.

God knows how we made it outside. I registered the dark of artificial evening and the smoke clearing, but I couldn't make out anything distinct. My human crutches came to a sudden halt, then my perspective cart-wheeled nauseatingly until I was laying on my back; perhaps someone was working on my leg, but I hadn't the strength to even move my head and look at this point. I thought I saw Heero's face in my narrow field of vision, just as everything spiraled to black...

... I came to with significantly more access to my sensory input, and it was not pleasant. Blindingly bright lights and that unfortunate hospital smell indicated where I was, confirmed by a generally weak feeling and a deep ache in my left leg. I had a blaring headache and someone's head abruptly blocked the harsh light, but it still took a couple seconds to focus fully. Blonde hair, definitely not Heero.

"Quatre?" I croaked, then started coughing from the scratching in my throat and lungs.

"You're one lucky bugger, you know?" He asked rhetorically, helping me sit up without asking, then offered me the glass from the bedside table.

When I had caught my breath, I took the water and gulped it down in four swallows, and only then took stock of the IV in my arm and the splinted bandage around my leg. Ugh, and my hair smelled like smoke. "What happened? How long've I been out?"

"It's about 0300 on Sunday. What with the blood loss and the surgery to repair the ruptured artery, you've been out cold for thirty-something hours. The doctor will have the rest of the details." Quatre turned his attention to the phone next to the bed, and promptly call the nurse's desk to inform them of my change in status.

"Tattle tail," I muttered sullenly, but then returned to my original question with more stress, "What happened?"

"You were betrayed by a man on your security detail, he's already in custody. He was paid substantially to plant a bomb in a vase near the stage. You're lucky that your initial sprint to the food table took you to the other side of the hall, most celebrities get stuck mingling by the stage stairs the entire night. And even luckier that you didn't bleed out before your leg wound could be treated."

I didn't feel very lucky, in fact I felt decidedly cursed. I'd given up Shinigami, but somehow death still followed in my wake. Would this shadow never stop following me? "Casualties?" I reluctantly ventured.

"Seven dead, dozens injured." Quatre sounded sympathetic, but he had seen as much destruction and loss of life as I had, and it was hard to feel more than moderately dismayed.

"Heero?" I asked, with only the faintest inkling of fear, for surely it would take more than a poorly-rigged bomb to take down 01. Would I sense if something had happened to him?

"He's tracking down the people behind the money. He just checked in a half hour ago."

I was modestly relieved, but I still needed to know, "Who died?"

"I didn't memorize the names, but I'll get that information."

"Hilde and Howard?" I hated being in the dark here, especially as I was supposed to be responsible for this!

"They're fine, Duo, relax," Quatre tried to sooth. "Hilde stayed until you were safely out of surgery, but then said she needed to get back to the Orphanage. Howard has visited yesterday, but he's likely asleep now. Peacemillion is certainly still docked."

A nurse walked in, so I rushed the last urgent questions, "Who's in charge? It's not a madhouse out there, is it?" I'd never forgive myself if my fucking inauguration ended in L2's relapse into rioting and violence.

Quatre smiled affectionately at me, so I knew it couldn't be that bad. "Your Deputy is in charge, of course, and she appears to be doing a competent job despite some unpopularity. There has been a cry of outrage and shows of support, but nothing to worry about. Though there might've been if you had not survived the assassination attempt... The locals still might rise up if you try the ol' bait and switch, as you'd call it. Katrina Petrovsky is _not_ who they voted for."

"You know all my tricks, Quat," I called, even as he slipped through the door.

"I'll just be out here."

I tried to focus on the attractive nurse then, but my health seemed boring compared to swirling thoughts about the... the assassination attempt. I had not considered myself that kind of target, though perhaps I had been naive. Plenty of politicians had died during the Gundam Wars, it was almost as dangerous as being a soldier; and like it or not, I had become politician. I'd been a fool to argue with Heero over security and precaution, and now people had died. Meanwhile, the nurse was detailing the surgery and provided a mild painkiller for the splitting headache and the thigh. Then she outlined a tedious recovery regime that began with a couple days in the hospital, followed by a week in a wheelchair and bed rest, and then two more weeks on crutches and light work duty. I had long ago learned to not even bother arguing with medical types, as they never respected your own self-expertise, and by the time she left I was thoroughly depressed.

Quatre came back in, a datapad in his hand. "I woke up your Deputy, she's glad you're recovering and will be by around 0830 hours."

I still had a lot of questions, but I was actually beginning to feel a little tired and I yawned widely. "Anything else I need to know before then?"

"Well, I am a little concerned about Heero," Quatre replied casually, probably knowing his words would make my ears prick up. He placed the datapad on the side table and sat down in the chair beside the bed. "His behavior has been quite aberrant, Trowa and Hilde noticed it too. After you lost consciousness, he tourniqueted your leg himself, and applied pressure until the EMT team arrived. Then he made Trowa and I swear to keep guard over you until he returned."

Okay, that was somewhat atypical behavior for the Heero, and hard to explain within the constraints of his Perfect Soldier image. "Where's he now?" I evaded, smoothing the sheet with my hand. .

"Hot on the trail of whoever did this, of course. He's a machine, I don't think he's even slept. He tracked down the security guard within twelve hours, got him to talk in another two. Then he traced the money wired to the guard, and last I heard he was prepping a handful of ESUN soldiers to take down an important local businessman."

"Who?" I asked with trepidation. What a fucking mess.

Quatre shrugged, "He's being very need-to-know about everything. And since I'm a civilian these days, he was disinclined to share."

"Well, that's certainly in character," I sighed, rubbing my face tiredly.

"Except that he has called me or Trowa every couple hours to demand updates." I lifted my eyes to see Quatre watching for my reaction as he teased lightly, "Has Lady Une threatened to fire him if he fails to keep you alive?"

"Not that I know of." I smiled in mild amusement, despite the fatigue and now embarrassment. What was I supposed to say? Both Heero and I were extremely private, and we had agreed to protect our privacy as long as possible; but I wasn't willing to lie to a friend either. Knowing Quatre, he probably already suspected the truth.

"Oh, come on, Duo!" Quatre suddenly laughed. "You're red in the face and I've never known you to be at a loss for words! You're acting as peculiar as he is."

The bastard actually made me squirm! "Stop, enough, you win. You're right."

Quatre's grin ate up his face, then beamed brightly at me from its perch. "About what exactly?" he asked cheekily, probably punishing me for not telling him sooner.

"We're, you know, closer now," I replied, purposely being as nondescript as possible. He deserved it for being so nosy.

"Really?" he almost squealed, as though I had told him the dirty details of our sex lives. "For how long? How's it going?"

Not my favorite questions, but answerable. "Since after the Strike, I guess. It's going okay, considering we both damaged goods."

Quatre looked a little disappointed in my lack of enthusiasm. "Just okay? Are you in love?"

That was a harder one, and I felt my heart rate speed up with stress. I ducked my head a little, a necessary weakness to force out my affirmative, "Yeah."

Quatre's hands grabbed mine, his voice quiet and earnest, "And does he love you?"

I nod, avoiding his eyes despite his proximity. I was breathing a little heavy, and I felt an irrational shiver of fear and panic.

"Duo, it's alright," Quatre soothed gently. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

I looked up then, disbelieving that I could be caught out so profoundly. That was my mistake, because Quat was able to deliver his next words while staring soulfully into my eyes. "You do deserve to be happy and to be loved."

I tugged my dear friend forward into a hug, whether for support or to break the searing eye contact I don't know. My face scrunched up with unshed tears, but I had to first force out the toxic truth. "It's not that, Quat," I whimpered pathetically into his soft hair. "Everyone I loved has died. I couldn't bare it if he..."

He squeezed me tighter then, and the wave of self-pity swept over me. I choked out a few sobs, cried for a couple minutes, and generally leaked on Quat and myself. He just stroked my back, and muttered welcomed, if meaningless comforts. "I'm here" and "It's okay".

I calmed relatively quickly and pulled away to wipe at my wet face. "I'm sorry about that," I even managed weak smile at my own melodrama. "I'd say I don't know what came over me, except that I think I've had that bottled up for a long time."

"I'll say," Quatre flashed another happy grin, but it no longer made me feel like a vampire under its sunny intensity. "And I'll further say that you couldn't have picked a beau with better aptitude for survival."

I chuckled a little at that, having thought the same myself. "I know. How much harder would this be if I was dating a damsel-in-distress type?"

"Love is pretty hard no matter who you're in love with," Quatre commented, conveying his usual softcore wisdom.

Any response I had was cut off as I yawned again, loudly this time.

Quatre took that as his queue to get to his feet. "You should get some sleep before Deputy Petrovsky gets here in a few hours, I think it's going to be a working visit." He gestured to the datapad on the side table. "I got the list of casualties for you, but I suggest you leave that until morning. I'll let Heero know you're conscious, then I'll be sitting outside the door for a couple more hours until Trowa comes to relieve me."

"You guys don't have to do that," I stated reflexively. Quat bent over to help ease me back into a reclining position.

"We want to," he returned, turning to dim the light on his way out. When he closed the door, I closed my eyes easily. I felt safer with Quatre outside the door than I ever had at the Dungeon alone, almost as safe as with Heero by my side.

! ! !

A few hours later, I was woken by Petrovsky, dragging a doctor with her. He told her the same treatment schedule that the nurse had told me, with less patience of his part and more bitchiness on hers. When he finished and left, she immediately launched into a detailed update of what had been going on and all she'd been doing. Despite Quatre's reassurances, there had been a couple violent if comparatively minor disturbances, linked primarily to rumors of my assassination.

"Then I should get on camera as soon as possible, right?" I hypothesized, still uncertain of these political waters in which I now swam. "Tape a message, maybe even grant an interview?"

Katrina nodded. "A taped message. No interviews until you can answer the difficult questions, we need to appear in the loop."

"What difficult questions, and why aren't we in the loop?" I frowned, still getting my bearings.

"Heero has been very tight lipped, so, frankly, I know fuck all about what he has discovered since the security guard. He is claiming Preventer jurisdiction, which is debatable, but we need this situation resolved yesterday, so I've let him do his thing. But neither of us should take questions until we can account for what he is doing."

"Shit," I cursed in irritation, because Katrina was right and this conflict was the very heart of politics. I needed to talk to Heero, because he was my boyfriend and protector, and because, damn it, as Prime Minister I needed to be aware of all major developments on L2. "Is Quatre or Trowa outside?"

Katrina nodded and moved to open the door. "Could you join us for a moment, Mr. Barton?"

Trowa appeared in the doorway, still hiding behind his hair but taller than ever. I smiled, a little surprised that I was genuinely happy to see him. "Duo. I hope you are well."

"As well as can be expected. I'm still getting used to being important enough to assassinate. Normal people only get murdered."

Trowa's lip quirked up a little, and I could see how Quatre would find him attractive. "And soldiers only have duty."

Or maybe not, Trowa always was a killjoy. Heero was obsessed with the mission, sure, but I was convinced during the War that 03 should've been medicated for serious clinical depression. I nodded my concession to melancholy, then moved on to other topics. "Any word from Heero?"

"Quatre spoke to him briefly. He is taking some of the ESUN troops to bring down a prominent businessman. He said he would be out of contact for a couple hours, but would come here as soon as the operation is over."

"Son of a bitch," Katrina swore. "Did he say who?"

Trowa shook his head, which just provoked more expletives. I rubbed my temples against an encroaching headache (dehydration from blood loss is a bitch!) and when I looked up Trowa had already retreated out the door. Leaving me with the Hydra.

"Look, Katrina, you're probably right. I haven't heard all sides, but it sounds like Heero's been somewhat out of line. So chill, I'll get the facts, and if necessary I'll _put _him in line." That probably didn't sound too convincing from the teenager sitting in the hospital bed.

Katrina must've been pissed because she usually managed more diplomacy than the following, "I hope so. The press is already gonna have a field day when they find out about your gay boyfriend, but it'll be a bigger problem if we let him go all vigilante. As you might suspect, our position on terrorism is already weak. "

Fuck! How bizarrely had Heero acted that all our friends and acquaintances suddenly seemed to know that we were together? Still, Katrina didn't know me half as well as Quatre, so it was easier to box her out. "That's enough. I'm sorry that my happiness is interfering with our political ambitions, but I do get what you're saying. I'll fix it. Today, if possible."

"Good," was all she replied, and I was grateful for her willingness to focus on the work. In some way, she was being a friend by keeping it professional. We discussed a few more points of business before I asked her look at the casualty list with me. She agreed, though she already knew, and watched as I read the names out loud. I had met most of them that night after the Inauguration ceremony, but only one was a real acquaintance – Peetah Ali, rep for the Human Services Union. Katrina had already informed his family, so we just reminisced for a few minutes, and I expressed my regret. She left after a while, warning that a speechwriter and cameraman would be sent over this afternoon. I considered calling Trowa in, but instead succumbed to this nagging fatigue...

When I blinked awake, I immediately noticed the pressure on my hand. My eyes focused on the short fuzz of a shorn scalp, resting on my mattress, and the pieces snapped together. I reached out my free hand to stroke through bristly hair –

His grip on my hand tensed for a moment as we both froze, but then he let his body relax and cautiously continued my stroking. "Are you alright?" I asked.

"Fully functional," he muffled into the sheets.

"Look at me," I entreated quietly. He did not move for a couple seconds, and then raised up to meet my eyes, still gripping my closest hand. He sported several half-healded scrapes and bruises, and looked exhausted as he just sat silently.

"I didn't mean to scare you," I soothed, trying to be understanding. "I made it, no permanent damage. Thanks to you. If you hadn't shouted warning – "

"No," he interrupted abruptly. "If I had uncovered the plot earlier –"

"No to you too!" I shot back petulantly. "We're not spinning the story that way. As far as I'm concerned, publically and personally, you saved lives by warning the crowd. If anyone was negligent about security, it was me. I resisted your advice every step of the way."

He bowed his head, "It was still my responsibility."

I studied him for a moment, clouded by my own guilt over recent happenings. I reached forward to place a thumb and forefinger on his chin, to tilt his face back up. "We are both responsible. Which is why I will head your warnings more in the future."

I placed a quick kiss on his lips. Heero tried to deepen the kiss, his hands finding my shoulders, but I pulled away. "As Prime Minister, I need to be debriefed on your activities."

Heero withdrew his hand reluctantly, steeling himself to report, "The man who betrayed us is in custody awaiting trial. I traced the wire transfer to his account through various shields and transfer sites until I determined the legitimate point of origin. The account belonged to Tarusca Pow, second cousin to Maro Lal – but I have not been able to find any admissible evidence of conspiracy. I took some ESUN men to arrest Pow at 0800 hours this morning. We took fire, but incapacitated the hired security without fatality. Pow was arrested and is currently detained in the Mainport Colonial Detention Facility."

Maro Lal had just lost the election to me, and was poised to lose a lot financially with the change in regime. This little adventure would only guarantee that he lost more, and I almost felt sorry for him. Even with Heero busy creating a Preventor's branch on L2, I'd bet that he could find a reason to put Lal behind bars by the end of the year.

"Heero, it sounds like you've done a good job." Ugh, didn't I already sound like a politician? Compromising and complementing? "But if you're gonna stay on L2, professionally, then you have to play by the rules. You can't keep me in the dark, or Katrina, or whoever else is representing my office."

Heero's vague expression only revealed mild distaste as he confessed quietly, "I would not have kept you in the dark."

I softened a little at his honesty, resisting the temptation to crumble completely. "I know. But I have responsibilities beyond me now, the duties of this role, however ill fitting. I need to trust that you will honor those duties too. Especially if I am incapacitated..." I lowered my voice another octave, "That's what it means, to not be a terrorist. To put up with the bureaucracy and do it the hard way."

Heero leaned back, away from the bed, showing the wear of almost three days with no sleep. "I know. I have no excuse."

"You have every excuse," I returned quickly, reaching for his rough hand. "But we've gotta be better than that if we're gonna take leadership roles in this new world order. I'm going legit, and I'm dragging L2 with me. And that means no vigilante lovers with tight shorts and a cape."

I smiled sympathetically at him, and I thought I saw his lips quirk a little in response. I was only echoing his own argument from months ago, with a bit of flair, so I was not surprised by his turn around. "I won't be that," he promised. "I'll keep you in know as much as Lady Une allows."

I arched an eyebrow at that, not above playing dirty. "If Lady Une doesn't allow a substantial amount, then she'll find me significantly less receptive to the new Preventer outpost being founded here."

"I'll keep that in mind," Heero deadpanned, and I laughed at him.

Leaning in for another quick meeting of lips, I confessed, "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Our words flowed together and spilled into our joined mouths.

! ! !

THANKS TO ALL MY READERS! PLZ REVIEW ON YOUR WAY OUT!


	8. The Future

This is it folks!

WARNING: Graphic sex at the end.

EPILOGUE: The Future

It took about a month to heal, and a second month of physical therapy before that leg was back up to strength. Working out with Heero made the gym fun, and a little sexy, so we kept that up even after it was no longer necessary. It was nice to spend time with Heero in what, for us, qualified as a relaxing environment. We began spending much of our work days apart, me politicking and Heero training a local Preventer force. Any interaction on the job usually involved issues of either criminal corruption or threats to my own security. The security guard's and Tarusca Pow's trials were both looming, and it didn't look good for either of them. Soko had a long, well-publicized trial, and was eventually found guilty of numerous nefarious charges, then was sentenced to life on one of the nicer satellite detention facilities orbiting L2 (yes, there is classism even in prisons). The colony itself was still limping along, finally back to the meager pre-Strike levels of production. From here on out, it would be more than rebuilding, it would be creating something new; or so I say in my speeches from the time.

I spent of a lot of time negotiating agreements, outlining natural consequences (_not _threatening) to support compliance, and directing large scale colonial operations. No one was more surprised than I when I appeared to be doing the job well, and a surprising number of people claimed not to be surprised at all. Perhaps I was late to believing my own abilities in this area, biased as I was by own childhood struggles with communication and socialization; but the early data did appear to indicate aptitude. Or, as I preferred to think of it: so far, so good.

Things with Heero also seemed to be going fairly well. Katrina, Hilde, Quatre, and Trowa all knew, and possibly Relena and Katrina, but their discretion allowed us to continue to explore our emergent relationship in the relative safety of secrecy – though there were certainly rumors. Under the pretense of security, and the guise of being old war buddies, we officially cohabitated in a well located if forgettable 3bd/2bth, which the media spun every which way. It was only a matter of time before we would have to announce publically, of course, but by then the rumors will have softened the blow.

Within the safety of our sanctuary, we usually managed early breakfasts and late dinners together, slept together, and had hungry sex almost nightly. Between our large respective workloads, there wasn't time for much else, but I think our relationship benefited from our separate work lives. Neither of us needed the other one around being distracting and making our jobs harder.

Every now and again we'd still get our signals seriously crossed and rediscover that just how very different we were; then we would attempt to talk about it, and usually end up having sex. Slowly, the discussions got easier, and (astounding only to us) the intimacy enhanced the physical acts that followed. Revealing our vulnerabilities to each other, and discovering the other's flawed humanity, had become a mortifying turn on to both of us. I took it as a sign of a healthy relationship.

It was such a sign that interrupted our discussion about Hilde's invitation to visit the Orphanage for an informal dinner with the kids. One minute I was telling Heero that he didn't need to bother cuz it wasn't important, and the next he was sucking on my tongue. He told me a moment later that it was important, and that he would be there, so I threatened that if he kept talking I would have to suck his dick – right there in the kitchen.

"Why do you belittle its importance to you?" he prodded verbally, his hands already tracing up my arms. "You're not subtle about your interest in the Orphanage, and it is obviously some place of significance to you." No, I was not subtle, but Heero had also slowly gotten better at reading me – in his own logical and methodical sort of way. Just as I sometimes used my unique duality to understand Heero, I think he used his own utilitarian foundation to construct a working, if flawed, understanding of me.

"The Orphanage is important, sure," I evaded, fingers moving to his waist and attention even lower than that. "But this isn't an important event or anything, it'll just be Hilde and a bunch of sadsack kids. I'm not even sure why they'd even want to do this, she's probably filled their heads with all sorts of nonsense from the War. They'll be expecting Deathscythe back from the grave."

"Or perhaps they admire the orphan like them that became a Gundam pilot and then Prime Minister of the colony," my boyfriend responded flatly.

Score for Heero, I thought as I smiled shyly at him, then I slunk down to my knees so I could suck on his dick, for as long as either of us could bear. Needless to say, Heero would be going to the dinner with me.

It was supposed to be a relatively informal affair, so I dressed down from my usual PM getup. Heero predictably felt most comfortable in his Preventer's uniform, and I didn't bother to tell him that it would probably earn him extra attention from the kids. If I told them he was the famous 01, hero of the Gundam Wars, they would probably melt on the spot – in to a puddle of piss. His glare alone would probably scare them off, and the thought made me chuckle to myself.

I had the now rare luxury of driving myself, even if it was my sensible, security-vetted vehicle, with Heero silently but constantly watching the cars behind us. The new Father Maxwell Memorial Orphanage looked significantly different from its predecessor. It had been built on the cheap, so it wasn't exactly _nicer_ than the church edifice, but at least it had just started down the inevitable path to decrepitude. I had already gotten reports on leaking plumbing and improperly installed fixtures. So far, most of my contact with Hilde and the Orphanage had revolved around financial, structural, and staffing issues. I received general reports regarding the kids' welfare, and even visit the a couple times, but I had made no efforts to meet any of the orphans. That I was going to now made me unaccountably nervous. What did I have to fear from a bunch of snotty noses that reeked of the past?

I rang the bell, Heero standing behind me in full on bodyguard mode. "Relax."

"You relax, then I relax." Heero shot back immediately, but my glance at him revealed nothing more than his usual readiness.

Hilde answered the door, so I put on my big happy smile and tapped into that ol' enthusiasm-on-demand. "Director Schbeiker, it's an honor."

She beamed back at me, teasing back with the standard, "Prime Minister Maxwell, it is you who honors us," then managed to grin even harder for, "Preventor Yuy. I'm just _ecstatic_ that you could accompany the Prime Minister. You're looking positively edible."

Heero grunted uncomfortably, but I just rolled my eyes and let myself past her into the hallway. Hilde, of course, had discovered my new relationship the same way our other friends had – Heero's uncharacteristic concern for me, displayed after the assassination attempt. She then claimed to have long realized that I wasn't interested in her, and to be glad that I'd found someone. She supported her claims by attempting to become my supportive fag hag, filling our conversations with graphic speculations about my sex life with "that superior sample of Grade A stud stock". I could only hope that she was compensating for being a positive role model in her professional life.

"The kids will be sitting for dinner soon," Hilde said, closing the door behind Heero, and then leading us down the hallway. "But there's a volunteer that I want you to meet first. He's been helping out for the last few weeks."

She turned into a doorway near the end of the hall, which led us into the kitchen. It looked nothing like the old kitchen where I had once cooked with Sister Helen, though the memories haunted the bleak room nonetheless. Near the eight-burner stove stood an attractive teenager, probably only a couple years younger than me, chocolate colored with dozens of thin, shoulder-length braids. He turned from his cooking to look at us as we entered, eyes widening as he sees me.

He looked familiar, and my cogs spun quickly through memories, but I didn't place his face fast enough. He wiped his hands on his apron, then walked towards us. Hilde's words came out like a voiceover, "Duo, this is Mandela Coates. Mandela, Prime Minister Maxwell."

Mandela's hand was stretched out towards me, a nervous smile on his face, but I was still oddly frozen as I struggled to respond. It seemed inconceivable that I could be standing before _my _Mandela, he had died to me when he was adopted, and yet here he stood. He even sorta looked like the little boy I had known. I hadn't thought about him in years, I hadn't even thought of Solo recently, and I didn't know what to do with the guilt that engendered. My hand hesitantly reached out to grab his, and I managed a very weak smile.

"It's good to see you, I just... I feel like I've seen a ghost," I explained, trying to make light of how lost I suddenly felt. Mandela's expression fell a little, and I remembered how much he used to look up to me. I'd have to try harder to appear unaffected, tried to joke, "You're looking awfully fit for an L2 pup, your parents drag you off-colony?"

Mandela managed his own watery smile. "No. I almost wish they had. I bugged them for months to see you, Duo, but they always forbid it. They're great, but I could never make them understand that you were also family."

I shrugged, not particularly wanting to get into our painful history, especially with Heero and Hilde listening intently. "Well, I certainly didn't make a very good first impression, so they can be forgiven. So why come back now?"

"Your public support of the Memorial Orphanage made the newsfeeds. I hoped to meet up with you, but I needed to visit anyway; and then once I visited, I had to find a way to give back. I'm not so different from these kids, and I wouldn't've the life I have today without Father Maxwell and Sister Helen."

I could sympathize with his last sentiments at least. "Me either."

He looked about to speak again when an obnoxious electronic gong sounded throughout the building.

"That would be the dinner chime," Hilde deadpanned, as though the sound hadn't been completely absurd. "This way."

"Of course it is," I murmured to myself, following her through an adjacent door and into the building's largest room. Designed to be multipurpose, it was currently striped with a half dozen long benches and tables, filled by about sixty kids between the ages of three and sixteen. They were suspiciously quiet, stationary, and present considering the dinner chime had just rung, not like any orphan kids I'd ever known. And then their eyes all tracked towards the small knot of adults, like a sea of young recruits before their cult leader.

"Falling back on your military training?" I half-joked, experiencing all sorts of weird déjà-vu.

Hilde smiled fondly and when she spoke, she did loud enough for the attentive residents. "Hardly. This is definitely them on their best behavior, as they know any disruptions will mean leaving the dining hall. And they don't want that, since most of them have been sitting in here for at least fifteen minutes, waiting to glimpse of their greatest hero...," her voice was rising and I forced a presentable smile, "Duo Maxwell!"

This apparently was permission to clap, pound the table, scream, hoot and whistle, which only quieted when Hilde waved down the energetic crowd. Lucky for me the room had decent acoustics, because I was now clearly expected to say something unforgettable, without the usual microphone.

I'd been PM long enough to always have a couple general and superficial ideas ready for a speech, but I rejected them almost immediately. Despite my discomfort, I _needed_ to reach this audience more than any other. Katrina and I had put out an official version of my life story while campaigning, but I usually preferred not to mine my past for speech material any more than I did for discussion topics. Now though, I was willing to start at the beginning.

"I never knew my parents, perhaps like some of you. I grew up hungry and wild on these mean streets, with a pack of other homeless kids, and it was very dog eat dog for a long time... When I first came to the old Orphanage, I was pretty much the worst kid there. I was maybe ten, couldn't read or barely sit still for very long. I couldn't make friends at first, let alone get adopted. But Father Maxwell and Sister Helen, they had enough patience for even the naughtiest boys and girls. They glued my butt to a chair and made me learn my ABCs."

There was a spattering of laughs, then I continued, "They raised me like their own child for a while, just because I needed them to. Their hands were full, yet they somehow made time for this handful... I stayed here until they died, and I found myself a job on a salvage crew, where I learned to fly. The rest is history, I guess. I became a Gundam pilot, and that fame helped me become Prime Minister.

"The important part of the story is that I survived, thrived even, despite everything. And you can to. Most of you will be adopted, and find parents that will care for you and guide you through the trials to come; and there will be trails, cuz this is L2, but you'll get by with the help of your friends and family. And if adoption is not in your future, well that's a low blow, I know, but you can't let their rejection bring you down. You can survive and thrive right here if you have to, and you can still find good people to fill your life. I've known both Hilde and Mandela," I held out an arm towards them, "for a long time, and you couldn't be in better hands. There are still mentors and friends to be had, and some day, laugh all you want, husbands and wives and even your own booger-nosed children. If you can fight for what you want, then there will be better things to come. All your dreams may not come true, that's not how the world works; but if you work hard enough, amazing and unpredictable things are possible."

Hilde and Mandela began clapping, permitting the children to break out in a second raucous round on noisemaking. Except that this time they did not quiet so easily, and I got a bit of a laugh out of Hilde threatening a group that had taken to chanting my name, "Du-o! Du-o!"

Mandela disappeared back into the kitchen, then returned with the recent hire I'd approved, Miriam Something-or-other. They were each rolling out a cart with several vats of food. With Heero and I helping, we managed to serve the food relatively quickly, then took our own seats, leaving Miriam, Mandela and a couple of tweenagers to serve second helpings. I sat at the head table with Heero, Hilde and four select orphans.

The kids made quick introductions: Nikita, 11, morose with thin scar lines under each eye; Moses, 9 and by far the most effusive; Tigerlilly, 8 with a big toothless smile; and a Kyle, 6 and so shy that Moses introduced him. I joked around with Moses and Tigerlilly for a few minutes, subtly sizing up the silent two before I enacted my strategy to get engage them too.

"So who'd you have to bribe to get a seat at the big table?" I teased with a grin. Up close and in smaller numbers, they were kinda cute.

"We all wrote papers 'bout why we wanna meet you," Moses offered immediately.

"Really? That sounds like a good idea. What was your reason?"

"Cuz I'm your biggest fan, of course! Director Schbeiker said it wasn't the best reason, but it was the best written." He smiled with such pride that Hilde and I both chuckled.

"Academic excellence should be rewarded," Hilde stated loftily.

"Yes, it should," I affirmed, then turned to the blonde who had taken a seat beside me. "And you, Tiger?"

The girl blushed and fidgeted for long seconds before she lisped, "I wrote dat I neber know who my parents were, sir, just like you. So I want to ask you a question."

"Okay." I held my breath, wondering how bad this could be.

"I know dey're not coming for me, I know dey didn't want me," she threw out matter-of-factly. "But how do I stop this stupid hoping that dey'll just show up one day? It _hurts _to keep tinking about it." Her face contorted then, mouth grimacing and eyes squinting, nothing like the smiling girl from minutes before.

"Don't stop hoping, the only alternative is despair," I urged immediately, as though emotional first aid was possible. I hadn't thought about my mythical parents in so long that I had almost forgotten that it used to hurt, but I still knew enough about thwarted hope to dare advise, "Change it instead, use that hope to fuel your other dreams. Only success and accomplishment can sooth the pain of crushed hope. You get what I'm saying?"

She was rather young, though seemingly bright, so it was hard to gauge her capacity to understand what I was saying. She did meet my eyes though, with a little nod that implied some conclusion had been drawn. I could only hope.

"That actually sounds pretty good, Duo," Hilde said, always having to add her two cents. "I'm impressed."

"And what's your reason, Kyle?" I asked the youngest, shiest kid, who was sitting directly across from me at the long table.

He just ducked his head, and after a long silent moment, Hilde explained soberly, "Kyle's parents were mobile suit pilots, killed by a Gundam early in the war."

Alliance soldiers, she left unsaid, and Kyle ducked his head lower. Clearly the disparaging opinion of the former Alliance, commonly held amongst colonials, had eroded the protective reverence that most orphans have for deceased parents. Dishonored memories of dead parents are often worse than no memories at all, or so it had seemed to me back then. I leaned over the table, propped up by my elbows so that I was as close to his level as possible while still sitting. "I'm sorry your parents died," I murmured softly. "Do you blame me?"

The boy shook his head, hair swaying back and forth, and sniffed a little. "Please don't cry." I reached my hand forward to take his smaller one. "It isn't anyone's fault, certainly not yours. War makes people do terrible stupid things to each other, and it doesn't make much sense. I still don't get it."

"W-why?" he stuttered, finally looking up to reveal green eyes. "Why join the evil Alliance?"

I squeezed his fingers. "I don't know for sure, but most around here joined because the Alliance paid higher than colony jobs, and promised a better life. Your parents probably wanted that for you. But then fighting for the Alliance wasn't as great as advertised."

Kyle frowned for a moment, as though trying to digest my words, the half-stated in conclusion, "They were fooled?"

Not exactly, but I could see how the situation could be spun that way.

"After a fashion," I hedged, but my reflexive nodding was confirmation enough. Kyle looked quite content with himself, and as I drew back he actually picked up a fork and was the first to dig in. My eyes turned to Nikita, who involved in a staring contest with Heero across the table. The coward had introduced himself as "the Prime Minister's bodyguard", as though he could sit unobtrusively and merely observe, but all four kids had looked at him nervously more than once.

"What reason did you write about, Nikita?" I asked loudly, trying to engage her attention.

"I didn't. I wrote about that I don't wanna see you," she sulked, scowling harder at an impassive Heero.

"Really? Why's that?" Surely this couldn;t be any worse than the last two who wanted to see me, right?

"Cuz you a faker!" she sassed, eyes cutting away to finally meet mine. "All this crap about how we can make it on our own, but not all of us can be the amazing fucking Duo Maxwell!"

"Niki! Language!" Hilde snapped. "If you really want to leave, you can take your dinner to the dormitory right now."

Nikita scowled at her for a moment, but kept silent and frozen unnaturally still.

I tried again, "Not everyone's gonna end up a Gundam pilot or Prime Minister, so what? That doesn't mean you can't salvage something out of this, have a life worth living."

"What do I have to live for?" she demanded, loud enough that the nearest table was watching us (though they'd probably have been anyway). "My mother doesn't want me after my father used me like a _whore_, left me to be beaten and tormented by him. Now I'm so scarred and messed up that no one will ever want me. They shoulda just killed me, and got it over with."

Okay, definitely worse than the other "reasons", and damn Hilde for putting me in this situation unwarned. I tried to will the words into the pregnant silence, to show that I understood how it felt to be that screwed up; to feel used and abused; to feel not only unwanted, but unwantable. Or maybe my understanding was too close to home, as my confidence faltered and I rubbed my neck nervously.

Heero has proven relatively good a reading my body language, once he has established certain indicators, and I took my nervous movement as his queue to take point, "You have a bad attitude. You will never succeed as long as you believe such nonsense."

"Hey!" Hilde barked, suddenly protecting her chicks from the big bad 01.

"What would you know, Preventer pig?" Nikita snarled, jumping to her feet and leaning her fists on the table. I'm sure the whole hall was watching us now.

Heero didn't have to rise, he was intimidating just as he sat, tense and ready, on the bench. His words came out low and threatening, before understanding softened their delivery, "I know enough. I was raised by an assassin, always on the hunt, until I watched him die. Later, I spent many years training to be a soldier, and nothing more, to fight the Alliance. Though I thought of it as training, I too was tortured and forced to endure sexual acts, to make me tougher and meaner. Then the War came, and I fought and destroyed, and I killed thousands like I was supposed to. Except that, at the end of the War, I'm surprisingly still alive, an aberration with no purpose, a freak as Maxwell would say. Why had they not just killed me?"

I frowned, perhaps I had used the word regarding myself, but never Heero. His eyes had not left Nikita's face, though he paused for dramatic effect (picked up a few tricks, eh?). "So I found a purpose. I got a job that used my unique skills, and then a friend that fits my unique personality. It seemed impossible, and yet there is a place for me in this world. Despite everything."

Heero stood slowly, not so tall but a statue of strength. "You are not such a freak as me, Nikita. Or Maxwell here. We made our own homes and families, and so can you – if you are willing to work hard. Or you can let your bad attitude kill you. It's that simple."

Nikita stood across the table from Heero, looking torn between anger and despair. "Who _are_ you?" she bit out wretchedly, like she needed a name to banish the demon.

"Heero Yuy," he stated bluntly, oblivious to the fact that his name was one of the most recognizable in the solar system.

In an odd harmony, Moses squealed, Tigerlilly gasped, and Kyle whimpered. Nikita's mouth gaped open, but she was clearly having some difficulty processing. For a moment I thought Heero looked almost pleased with the reaction, and my own lips quirked a little. Had he just come to my rescue?

"Actually, three of the Gundam pilots are orphans," Hilde asked lightly, trying to defuse the situation.

"You never said that you knew the other pilots as well!" Moses accused.

We all chuckled or smiled, except Nikita, but she did sit down, looking pensive at least. Maybe Heero had gotten through to her just a little.

The dinner continued for another half hour, dragging as Heero and I struggled to answer the endless barrage of awkward questions. Once we had opened them up, they would not be contained. Even Nikita and Kyle had a couple nosy queries about being Gundam pilots. By the time Hilde had to forcibly dismiss them, the dining hall was empty and Mandela was wiping down the tables. I exchanged a few comments and complements with Hilde regarding the dinner, and then excused myself to follow Mandela into the kitchen.

"Hey."

Mandela startled, then turned around with a smile. "Still sneaking up on people I see."

"It's still a useful skill, always has been," I returned honestly.

"I can imagine." A silence followed as we both searched for words, which he finally broke with a gesture towards the door. "So that's the famous Heero Yuy?"

I nodded, reaching out with unusual honesty to mumble, "We're living together."

"So the newsfeeds say," Mandela snarked, eyebrow raised. "Your boyfriend?"

I nodded and shifted my weight from foot to foot, trying not to blush too hard. After a moment he observed quietly, "He's not much like Solo."

"No, I guess not," I conceded. It was a sensitive subject, but one I'd known had to be broached between us. "I wish I'd been able to see Solo at my age, even your age. He would've been magnificent, the King of Wolves."

"Are you kidding me?" Mandela laughed lightly. "_You_ were always the wolf king, prowling the street to provide for the litter ones. Solo was the den mum!"

I had to laugh a little there, and wonder briefly whose biased perception was closer to the truth. "He loved all you pups. Every time, I told him we can't feed another hungry mouth, but he would gush about how great every kid was."

It felt bittersweet to talk of such things, and it got worse as he kept going, "You always managed to keep us fed, Duo. It was no wonder to any of us that Solo loved you best."

"Maybe." I had dared hope that back then, but I wouldn't admit that to him. I moved to stand next to him and started rinsing the dishes.

"I'm sure he did," Mandela said with sober confidence. He takes the first bowl and places it in the industrial washing machine. "You two functioned like clockwork. Together you kept us alive."

"For a while at least," was my inevitable conclusion, though it didn't hurt as much as it had years ago. "We're both damned lucky, no matter what other shit we've gone through."

"Amen to that, brother."

I helped him finish rinsing and loading the dishwasher, steering steadily towards lighter topics. I gave him my contact info and a quick hug in farewell before I returned to the almost empty dining hall. Heero was sitting in a barely relaxed stance, not unexpectedly keeping guard near the door. His eyes quickly assessed my body, presumably for damage.

"Where's Hilde?" I asked.

"Preparing the children to sleep."

"Then I doubt she'll appreciate me popping in to say good-night." The activity of the evening was beginning to wear me down, so I decided it was time to just slip away. I'd send her a text message on the way out.

Heero drove, and I felt out his reactions by starting light, "You know Hilde totally timed that dinner so those kids would ask us to attend the talent show fundraiser. Now that we've promised little orphans, we're politically obligated to go."

"Hn," he grunted, and that was all for a moment. Finally, "Then we shall go."

"It wasn't too bad, was it?" I prodded. "The kids were most impressed with you, Preventer Yuy."

"It was a challenge, but ultimately rewarding," he stated, eyes on the road.

I nodded, conceding, "That's a good way of putting it."

We were silent for long minutes, and I found my thoughts wandering by the time Heero spoke again, "Do you want to adopt one?"

I could only imagine that this was one on of our "cultural misunderstandings", cuz it seemed pretty bizarre coming from Heero. "No way. I'm, like, probably not even eighteen. Plus, you see the hours I put in as PM."

His impassive expression didn't change. "In the future then?"

"I haven't thought about it. Maybe. Why?"

"You would be good at parenting. It suits you," he stated, eyes still on the road.

"Thanks, I guess." That was also an odd thing for Heero to say. "Do you want to adopt or something?" I queried suspiciously.

A now familiar, if subtle expression settled on his features as he struggled for the words. Like a Pavlovian reflex, I felt hot blood flow gradually towards my groin.

"Only if you wanted to," he admitted finally. "You were open and engaged in there, connecting so easily to those four emotionally damaged children, and I think I can deduce why. You sould be like that more often. I want you to have the family you deserve."

This was a little much to take in. I'd never given much thought to having my own little wards, but apparently Heero was already imagining our domesticated future. The sentiment in his words made me hornier, but the meaning was almost ludicrous. "Do you hear what you're proposing? Me and you as Mommy and Daddy? Are _you _up for that?"

Heero's eyes flitted towards mine for a second before they looked forward again. "I can protect and provide. The rest I'd learn, if I could follow your lead."

I was flattered and flabbergasted. "That's sexy as hell, babe, but there no way I'm deciding our whole future on the way home. Ask me about kids in a decade, then we'll see."

"Agreed."

We finished the drive without talking, and I was content to watch him indiscreetly. Earlier I'd had some trepidation about the dinner, but now I felt extraordinarily uplifted and free – of worry, of the past, of all the negativity. It was enough to float in the perfect haze of lust and pleasure, considering what I would do to Heero when we got home. If confronting my past freed me once already this evening, perhaps it could do so again. Maybe it was finally time to let go of the fear.

Only after he parked the vehicle in our garage and powered it down did he turn to look at me. I finally gave into the urge to lean over and kiss him, doing so with as much passion as I could muster. It didn't take long before I was incredibly turned on, and we were scrambling inside. Heero'd barely locked the door before I was leaning against his back, pressing his chest into the door. He went with my weight, bracing himself with his arms as I rubbed against him and nuzzled his ear.

"I want you, Heero," I rasped hungrily, savoring his clean, masculine smell. Months of practice had made it easy to let my want and lust pour from my lips. "I want you now."

Heero grunted in concurrence, then backed up by shifting his ass into my hips.

My fingers brushed the firm flesh under the hem of his shirt, lightly enough to raise bumps up on his skin. I trailed my fingers softly up his ribcage until they found his pebbled nipples. I pinched faintly, then smiled to myself as Heero's body shivered. I hadn't known that a man could have sensitive nipples, but I'd discovered that my boyfriend did, and he rewarded my knowledge by displaying a rare trust. I twisted them more roughly, eliciting a cherished moan and dropping his head back to rest bonelessly on my shoulder. I took the offer to kiss and nibble the crook of his neck.

After a couple minutes worshipping my sexual hero, I worked up the courage to murmur, "You never did take me up on my offer."

"What offer?" he breathed distractedly.

My fingertips twisted his nipples again, then flexed and traced down his skin to rest on his hips. My nose ran up his jugular until it met his earlobe, and I was glad I was glad I didn't have to look at him to echo my own words, "To fuck the Prime Minister."

Heero groaned loudly, but it sounded almost frustrated, then he was turning around in my arms. With his back against the wall, and me leaning over him, he could easily turn his sharp gaze on me, and I couldn't easily hide my face. I was already flushed, so perhaps my embarrassment didn't show much, but I could barely guess at what Heero was looking for. As familiar as we'd become, I found it particularly hard to perceive how he saw me.

Finally, he asked, "What did you and Coates talk about?"

Coates? It took me a beat to realize who he meant, and then my frown matched his. "Mandela? What does he have to do with anything?"

"I want to know why you're bringing this up now."

I did feel compelled to back up then, and retrieve my personal space for the protection it provided. Heero grabbed my wrist, but it was enough to be able to able to turn away. Once the intensity of his gaze was broken, the mournful truth came easily, "We talked about Solo mostly."

"Are you alright?" That was probably all he could ask, considering how little I'd ever told him about Solo and my life before the Sister Helen and Father Maxwell. It was mildly distressing to be the one revealing, but my erection still thrummed and I knew that if I could channel this tension the right way, I could get what I wanted. So I nodded and turned back to him, meeting his eyes.

"I'm better than alright. Against all odds, this evening actually made me happy," I explained earnestly, before a small smirk materialized. "But I wouldn't be me if I didn't try to press my luck."

I leaned in for a kiss, which Heero allowed for a few seconds before interrupting, "That is not the same as wanting to."

I felt a stab of irritation that he was making this harder than it had to be. "Damn it, Heero, I want it," I offered with a note of exasperation. "I want you. I want to be able to have sex every which way under the sun and moon, with _you, _Hee-chan. Do I need to beg? Don't you want that too?"

It hadn't occurred to me that he wouldn't want to "pitch", so to speak, though now the idea dawned with a touch of relief and hefty share of disappointment. Heero's undeniable satisfaction in "receiving" made a convincing case for the act, and I had indeed grown curious over the months of our relationship. The prospect of being truly penetrated was still unnerving, but I had also come to anticipate the intimacy and, tentatively, the pleasure of the experience itself. It was a little sad to now consider that I never would.

Heero snaked forward to place a quick kiss on my downturned lips. "I do, Duo, when you're ready." He paused for see if that would suffice, and when it didn't, continued with a conciliatory, "Tonight, if you really want."

My confidence was beginning to flag, now yielding the upper hand to mortification. "You don't have to sound so unenthusiastic," I snapped defensively, pulling away from him physically and emotionally. Words shot from my mouth like automatic weapons fire, "You know what? Don't bother. I already regret bringing this up. Maybe I was tempted a couple minutes ago, but if you tried now, I'd probably black out and kill you."

They were hurtful words, and sowed enough guilt that I couldn't look at him anymore; but I was too bitter to apologize. Here we were at our worst: me overflowing with fluid emotion, while he still went thirsty. With a sigh of frustration, I turned and I tried to walk away, only to have him follow me into the bedroom, apparently to continue irritating me.

toed off my shoes and socks, stripped off my shirts and pants, and Heero did the same on the opposite side of the bed, as though we were planning to sleep; except that we almost never retired together without having at least two orgasms between us, and my traitorous body was pretty happy with that schedule. Now we eyed each other speculatively. Usually we argued and then had makeup sex, but we had never quarreled about sex before, and it felt like new territory. He looked hot frowning in just his boxers though, with his chiseled chest and arms, and even annoyed I wanted him.

"I could probably manage an angry hand job, if you don't mind a little friction burn," I practically menaced, overcompensating in a very unflattering manner. Heero, however, has always been impossible to intimidate, and difficult to provoke if disinclined. Instead of answering immediately, he moved cautiously and purposely towards me, being the sort of cat that stalks towards fire.

Standing again inches apart, he agreed quietly, "You know I don't mind."

Everything he said was rubbing me the wrong way, so with that permission, I launched my energetic attack on his mouth and body, tumbling us onto the bed. From my position below, my hands grabbed at his skin of his arms and shoulders and back, roughly pulling him towards me again and again. He took my manhandling for long minutes, apparently enjoying it if his hard cock was any indication, but he did not respond with the same. Instead met my frenzy with tranquility and endurance, persisting with deep kisses and small caresses that slowly, slowly, slowly drained away the irrational resentment under my skin, until my lust became drunk and lazy.

I was ready to listen again when he finally found the words, whispered almost inaudibly into the flesh he traced his lips over. At the shrapnel scar on my thigh, "I don't want an angry hand job, Duo, I want _you_." His nose ran up my leg to my hip bone, "I want to be as close to you as you have been close to me." Continuing along my stomach and ribs to a nipple, "I want to make a space for myself, as you have made a place inside of me." His tongue flicked out for a wet caress, then whispered, "If I can make you feel as I have felt, then I know you will never want to leave."

I pulled his head up a few more inches so that we were eyelevel, and asked with a languid smile, "Why couldn't you have said that earlier?"

Heero's lips quirked a little. "Duo, I have no idea what happened earlier, or why you suddenly got so angry. I'm sorry I upset you."

"No, I'm sorry," I was able to offer now, with genuine remorse. "It's stupid, but for a minute I thought you didn't want to. And that made me feel, I dunno, disappointed and hurt and all that shit… Cuz I do, you know, want you to fuck the PM." The last sentence was hard to force out, but I had to add it, since we sucked so badly at the communication aspect of our relationship. Though I still thought we were gradually getting better.

Heero had leaned back slightly, but used the space to "help" me out of my boxers. "I dislike that euphemism you persist in using."

That was not what I was expecting, but I was more preoccupied watching him slide out of his own briefs. He was hard and thick, and I was on my way down as I asked distractedly, "What do you want to call it?"

I gave Heero's cocktip a quick suckle and ran my tongue along the slit just to taste, indulging for a few seconds. Then I lay on my side, mirroring his position so that one elbow propped me up and our dicks rubbed lightly but purposely together. Heero's free hand caressed down my pecs and ribs to rest on my hip, his eyes following before coming back to meet mine.

I had thought the question abandoned, but he must've spared a brain cell to think, in order to answer, "Infiltrate. That's what I'm going to do. I'm going to infiltrate your body."

Heero's hand was wrapping around my dick, so my laugh was definitely breathy. "Hardly. You're more of a storm-the-fortress type."

"Not tonight." He was stroking now, and I didn't bother to answer. I quickly gave into his skilled manipulations, flooding my mind with the sensations pulsing out from my groin. Heero wasn't a natural exactly, but he learned quick and had always been good with his hands, so he'd developed his skills rapidly. Within minutes my cock was leaking and my hips thrusting forward minutely, and I groaned eagerly when he pushed me onto my back and settled between my legs. His hot mouth found my swollen prick, my eyes closed with a gasp of relief, and I stopped tracking his movements.

For a long couple minutes, the moist suction on my most sensitive appendage made up my whole world. When a slick digit joined the party, I was neither surprised nor startled and I pushed back immediately. Heero had fingered me a few times before, with only mild apprehension on my part, but now my emotional state transformed the experience completely. My asshole felt downright greedy, in a very physical and demanding way, and I had to stop myself from insisting he mount me right now. My legs wantonly aided our rhythm, one and then two fingers stretching and scissoring and plunging.

"Fuck, Heero, I want this so bad," I whined. And the unspoken, I desperately want it to go _well_.

Instead of words, his mouth left my dick and his strong fingers withdrew. I reluctantly opened my eyes to see Heero watching me, kneeled between my legs. Without breaking eye contact, his clean hand gripped my inner thigh, while his slick hand inserted thee fingers, more than he had ever used before, and I moaned as my muscles clamped down reflexively on the intrusion. Discomfort was irrelevant as the stretch burned and tantalized my body. His fingers pumped in and out of me, slower now against the greater resistance, and his eyes left mine now to focus on this spectacle.

There was superficial embarrassment, but there was also a little exhibitionist inside of me that was on the verge of creaming our pants. It seemed vastly preferable to Shinigami's manifestation as I tried to ride the wave of pleasure and arousal. "Now, Heero, please. I'm too close."

His fingers withdrew, and my body tightened around the emptiness. I watched him use his slick hand to coat his dick, stroking a couple times before he asked, "Like this?"

I nodded, still on my back, with Heero kneeling between my legs. He grabbed my calves and pushed them upward, rocking my whole body back so that my ass was in the air and my knees close to my face. Objectively, I felt folded in half and self conscious, but my corporeal body was still unsatisfied and craving. All these issues disappeared as Heero's thumb rubbed at my hole, relaxing the muscle even as he nudged it with his blunt prick. My mind flashed to that thing I wasn't supposed to think about, but only cuz I wasn't supposed to think about it, so promtly I banished it from existence.

Heero's chest and pelvis pushed slowly against my hard body, but I could not bend any further, and his solid dick pressed against the weakened barrier to my body, until it yielded abruptly.

"Unnhh!" I cried, shocked despite expectation, and suddenly overwhelmed. It hurt thoroughly, but I was so horny that the even the pain sorta felt good. Except that Heero had frozen, leaving me to squirm awkwardly on his dick. "Fuck! Don't stop!"

"I don't want to hurt you," he managed with effort, but still too self-possessed for my tastes.

"You won't. Enough infiltration already. Now please, please, just fuck me."

So Heero inched forward, and I struggled to relax around the intrusion. He stopped again when he was fully seated, and we both took steadying breaths, staring into each other as into unfathomable depths. So close and yet so far. His fingers traced down my calves and thighs, to stroke and rub my buttocks, before moving on to my hips. With his grip on my prone body, it was easy for him to ease back a couple inches, and then back in, then again and again.

Embarrassing little grunts escaped my throat, but when Heero grabbed my partially deflated erection, such concerns ceased. His talented hand melted away any discomfort, until pleasure echoed between my leaking prick and my spasming hole. My senses filled with Heero, breathing and sweating on top of me, pressing me into the mattress with all his weight, driving his dick into me time and again, harder and harder.

The next thrust hit my prostate and I cried, "Harder, harder!"

He hammered it again, and once more, so that my entire body seized even as his thrusts grew erratic. A great conflagration tore through my body then, and erupted from my dick in thick white ropes, Heero's dick still pummeling in and out. "Aaahhh!"

Heero was seconds behind me, jerking my suddenly boneless body with the force of his climax, filling my sore hole with a strange but satisfying warmth. When he collapsed on top of me, the position became unsustainable and he carefully withdrew, cum still cooling on our bodies. I lower my legs and straighten my back with relief, Heero already curling up beside me. Neither of us were much into cuddling, but there had been a few occasions. We'd have clean up, and we'd eventually fall asleep within our own space, but for a couple minutes it felt good to just be at peace with my lover.

"Thanks," I murmured into his scalp, kissing the fuzz. Then even quieter, "I love you."

"I love you," came the muffled reply, our standard offering after sex.

I stayed up after Heero fell asleep, my calves aching and an arousing tenderness in my hole. My thoughts gravitated to the activity in which I had just participated, and then to Heero himself: his intelligence, courage, and inner strength; his patience with and love for me; his willingness to struggle with me, to build a future for ourselves and this dumpy, mistreated colony. I thought that maybe Mandela was wrong. In some ways, he's a lot like Solo.

But with Heero by my side, I know our pack is gonna make it.

! ! !

The End

LAST CHANCE! PLEASE REVIEW!


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